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THERE    WAS    BIG    REUBEN     LOOKING    DOWN     AT    US  ' 


The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 


THE  STORY  OF  A  MOUNTAIN  RANCH 
IN  THE  EARLY  DAYS   OF  COLORADO 


BY 
SIDFORD  F.  HAMP 

Author  of  "  Dale  and  Fraser,  Sheepmen,"  etc. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 
CHASE  EMERSON 


W.  A.  WILDE  COMPANY 

BOSTON  CHICAGO 


Copyrighted,  igoy 
By  W.  A.  Wilde  Company 

All  rights  reserved 

The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 


Jttyty 


PREFACE 


IN  relating  the  adventures  of  "The  Boys  of 
Crawford's  Basin,"  the  author  has  endeav- 
ored to  depict  the  life  of  the  ranchman  in  the 
mountains  of  Colorado  as  he  knew  it  towards  the 
end  of  the  "  seventies  "  of  the  century  just  past. 

At  that  date,  the  railroads,  after  their  long 
climb  from  the  Missouri  River  to  the  foot  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  were  still  seeking  a  practica- 
ble passage  westward  over  that  formidable  bar- 
rier, and  in  consequence,  the  mountain  ranch- 
man— who,  by  the  way,  was  also  sometimes  a 
prospector  and  frequently  a  hunter — having  no 
means  of  shipping  his  produce  to  the  outside 
world,  depended  for  his  market  upon  one  or 
another  of  the  many  little  silver-mining  camps 
scattered  over  the  State. 

That  infant  State  was  but  just  learning  to  walk 
without  leading-strings  ;  and  it  has  been  the  aim 
of  the  author  to  show  how  two  stout  young  fel- 
lows, prone  to  honesty  and  not  afraid  of  hard 
work,  were  able  to  do  their  share  in  advancing 
5 


g  Preface 

the  prosperity  of  the  growing  Commonwealth  in 
^¥hieh  their  lot  was  cast. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place,  perhaps,  to  men- 
tion that,  besides  having  had  considerable  ex- 
perience in  ranching,  the  author  was,  about  the 
date  of  the  story,  himself  prospecting  for  silvei 
and  working  as  a  miner.  He  would  add,  too 
that  several  of  the  incidents  related  therem,  a.rd 
those  in  his  opinion  the  most  remarkable,  are 
drawn  from  actual  facts. 


CONTENTS 


I.  Big  Eeuben's  Kaid  . 

n.  Crawford's  Basin    . 

III.  Yetmore's  Mistake 

IV.  Lost  in  the  Clouds  . 

V.  What  We  Found  in  the  Pool 

VI.  Long  John  Butterfield 

VIL  The  Hermit's  Warning  . 

VIIL  The  Wild  Cat's  Trail    . 

IX.  The  Underground  Stream     . 


X.     How  Tom  Connor  Went  Boring  for  Oil    169 


XL  Tom's  Second  Window 

XIL  Tom  Connor's  Scare 

XIII.  The  Ore-Theft 

XIV.  The  Snow-Slide 
XV.  The  Big  Reuben  Vein 

XVI.  The  Wolf  with  Wet  Feet     . 

XVII.  The  Draining  of  the  ' '  Forty  Rods  " 


11 

27 

42 

64 

82 

101 

119 

134 

150 


190 
210 
229 
250 
271 
289 
313 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

=  ' There   was    big    Reuben    looking   down 

AT  us "     .          .          .          .        Frontispiece  22 

•"Ah,  Sox,  is  that  you?'"         ...  78 

■*We    saw    before    us     a     very     curious 

sight" 155 

•''Can  folks  see  in  from  outside?'"         .  213 

■'He  shot  downward  like  an  arrow"      .  281 


The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 


CHAPTER  I 
Big  Reuben's  Raid 

"TT7AKE    up,   boys!     Wake   up!    Tumble 

»  ▼  out,  there  !  Quick !  Big  Reuben's  into 
the  pig-pen  again  !  " 

Our  bedroom  door  was  banged  wide  open,  and 
my  father  stood  before  us — a  startling  appari- 
tion— dressed  only  in  his  night-shirt  and  a  pair 
of  boots,  carrying  a  stable-lantern  in  one  hand 
and  a  rifle  in  the  other. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Joe,  as  he  bounced  out 
of  bed  ;  and,  "  Where  is  it?  "  cried  I,  both  of  us 
half  dazed  by  the  sudden  awakening. 

"  It's  Big  Reuben  raiding  the  pig-pen  again  ! 
Can't  you  hear  'em  squealing?  Come  on  at 
once  !  Bring  the  eight-bore,  Joe  ;  and  you,  Phil, 
get  the  torch  and  the  revolver.  Quick  ;  or  he'll 
kill  every  hog  in  the  pen  !  " 

Big  Reuben  was  not  a  two-legged  thief,  as  one 


I  2         The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

might  suppose  from  his  name.  He  was  a  grizzly 
bear,  a  notorious  old  criminal,  who,  for  the  past 
two  or  three  years,  had  done  much  harm  to  the 
ranchmen  of  our  neighborhood,  killing  calves 
and  colts  and  pigs — especially  pigs. 

Like  a  robber-baron  of  old,  he  laid  tribute  on 
the  whole  community,  raiding  all  the  ranches  in 
turn,  traveling  great  distances  during  the  night, 
but  always  retreating  to  his  lair  among  the  rocks 
before  morning.  This  had  gone  on  for  a  long 
time,  when  one  day,  in  broad  daylight,  while 
Ole  Johnson,  the  Swede,  was  plowing  his  upper 
potato-patch,  the  grizzly  jumped  down  from  a 
ledge  of  rocks  and  with  one  blow  of  his  paw 
broke  the  back  of  Ole's  best  work-steer ;  Ole 
himself,  frightened  half  to  death,  flying  for  ref- 
uge to  his  stable,  where  he  shut  himself  up  in 
the  haj^-loft  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

This  outrage  had  the  effect  of  waking  up  the 
county  commissioners,  who,  understanding  at 
last  that  we  had  been  terrorized  long  enough, 
now  offered  a  reward  of  one  hundred  dollars  for 
bruin's  scalp — an  offer  which  stimulated  all  the 
hunters  round  about  to  run  the  marauder  to  his 
lair. 

But  Big  Reuben  was  as  crafty  as  he  was  bold. 


Big   Reuben's   Raid  1 3 

His  home  was  up  in  one  of  the  rocky  gorges  of 
Mount  Lincoln  to  the  west  of  us,  where  it  would 
be  useless  to  try  to  trail  him  ;  and  after  Jed 
Smith  had  been  almost  torn  to  pieces,  and  his 
partner,  Baldy  Atkins,  had  spent  two  nights 
and  a  day  up  a  tree,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hunt- 
ers had  suddenly  waned  and  Big  Reuben's  closer 
acquaintance  had  been  shunned  by  all  alike. 
Thereafter,  the  bear  had  continued  his  depreda- 
tions unchecked. 

Among  his  many  other  pieces  of  mischief,  he 
had  killed  a  valuable  calf  for  us  once,  once  be- 
fore he  had  raided  the  pig-pen,  and  now  here 
he  was  again. 

Without  waiting  to  put  on  any  extra  clothing, 
Joe  and  I  followed  my  father  through  the 
kitchen,  I  grabbing  a  revolver  from  its  nail  in 
the  wall,  and  Joe  snatching  down  the  great 
eight-bore  duck-gun  and  slipping  into  it  two 
cartridges  prepared  for  this  very  contingency, 
each  cartridge  containing  twelve  buck-shot  and 
a  big  spherical  bullet — a  terrific  charge  for  close 
quarters.  Once  outside  the  kitchen-door,  I  ran 
to  the  wood-shed  and  seized  the  torch  which, 
like  the  cartridges,  had  been  made  ready  for 
this  emergency.     It  consisted  of  a  broom-handle 


14         The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

with  a  great  wad  of  waste,  soaked  in  kerosene, 
bound  with  wire  to  one  end  of  it. 

Lighting  the  torch,  I  held  it  high  and  fol- 
lowed two  paces  behind  the  others  as  they  ad- 
vanced towards  the  pig-pen.  We  had  not  pro- 
gressed twenty  yards,  however — luckily,  for  us, 
as  it  turned  out — when  there  issued  through 
the  roof  of  the  pen  a  great  dark  body,  dimly 
seen  by  the  light  of  the  torch. 

"  There  he  is ! "  cried  my  father,  as  the  bear 
dropped  out  of  sight  behind  the  corral  fence. 
"  Look  out,  now  !  We'll  get  a  shot  at  him  as  he 
runs  up  the  hill !  " 

But  Big  Reuben  had  no  intention  whatever 
of  running  up  the  hill ;  he  feared  neither  man 
nor  beast,  and  the  next  moment  he  appeared 
round  the  corner  of  the  corral,  charging  full 
upon  us,  open-mouthed. 

With  a  single  impulse,  we  all  fired  one  shot  at 
him  and  then  turned  and  fled,  helter-skelter,  for 
the  kitchen,  all  tumbling  in  together,  treading 
on  each  others'  heels  ;  my  father  slamming  be- 
hind us  the  door,  which  fortunately  opened 
outward. 

The  kitchen  was  a  slight  frame  structure, 
built  on  to  the  back  of  the  house  as  a  T-shaped 


Big  Reuben's  Raid  15 

addition.  We  were  barely  inside  when  bang ! 
came  a  heavy  body  against  the  door,  with  such 
force  as  to  send  several  milk-pans  clashing  to 
the  floor. 

My  father  had  hastily  loaded  again,  and  now, 
hearing  the  bear's  paws  patting  high  up  on  the 
door,  he  fired  a  chance  shot  through  it.  The 
bear  was  hit,  seemingly,  for  we  heard  him  grunt ; 
but  that  he  was  not  killed  by  any  means  was 
evident,  for  the  next  moment,  with  a  clattering 
crash,  the  kitchen  window,  glass,  frame  and  all, 
was  knocked  into  the  room,  and  a  great  hairy 
arm  and  fierce,  grinning  head  were  thrust 
through  the  gap. 

Joe,  who  was  standing  just  opposite  the 
window,  jumped  backward,  and  catching  his 
heels  against  the  great  tub  wherein  the  week's 
wash  was  soaking,  he  sat  down  in  it  with  a 
splash.  Seeing  this,  I  sprang  forward  and 
thrust  my  torch  into  the  bear's  face ;  upon 
which  he  dropped  to  the  ground  again.  A 
half-second  later,  Joe,  still  sitting  in  the  tub, 
fired  his  second  barrel.  It  was  a  good  shot,  but 
just  a  trifle  too  late,  and  its  only  effect  was  to 
blow  my  torch  to  shreds,  leaving  us  with  the 
dim  light  of  the  lantern  only. 


1 6         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Into  the  house  !  "  shouted  my  father  ;  where- 
upon we  all  retreated  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
main  building.  There,  while  Joe  held  the  door 
partly  open  and  I  held  the  lantern  so  as  to  throw 
a  light  into  the  kitchen,  my  father  knelt  upon 
the  floor  waiting  for  the  bear  to  give  him  an- 
other chance.  But  Big  Reuben  was  much  too 
clever  to  do  anything  of  the  sort ;  he  was  not 
going  to  put  himself  into  any  such  trap  as  that ; 
and  presently  my  mother  from  up-stairs  called 
out  that  she  could  see  him  going  off. 

We  waited  about  for  half  an  hour,  but  as  there 
was  no  more  disturbance  we  all  went  back  to 
bed,  where  for  another  half-hour  Joe  and  I  lay 
talking,  unable,  naturally,  to  go  to  sleep  at  once 
after  such  a  lively  stirring-up. 

By  sunrise  next  morning  we  were  all  out  to 
see  what  damage  had  been  done.  The  bear  had 
torn  a  great  hole  in  the  roof  of  the  pen,  had 
jumped  in  and  had  killed  and  partly  eaten  one 
pig,  choosing,  as  a  bear  of  his  sagacity  naturally 
would,  the  best  one.  We  were  fortunate,  though, 
to  have  come  off  so  cheaply  ;  doubtless  the  light 
of  our  torch  shining  through  the  chinks  of  the 
logs  had  disturbed  him. 

If  there  had  been  any  question  as  to  the  ma- 


Big  Reuben's  Raid  17 

rauder's  identity,  that  was  settled  at  once.  His 
tracks  were  plain  in  the  dust,  and  as  one  of  his 
hind  feet  showed  no  marks  of  claws,  we  knew 
it  was  Big  Reuben  ;  for  Big  Reuben  had  once 
been  caught  in  a  trap  and  had  only  freed  him- 
self by  leaving  his  toe-nails  behind  him. 

Outside  the  kitchen  door  and  window  the 
tracks  were  very  plain  ;  there  was  also  a  good 
deal  of  blood,  showing  that  he  had  been  hit  at 
least  once.  But  it  was  evident  also  that  he  had 
not  been  hurt  very  seriously,  for  there  was  no 
irregularity  in  his  trail — no  swaying  from  side 
to  side,  as  from  weakness — though  we  followed 
it  up  to  the  point  where,  at  the  upper  end  of 
our  valley,  the  bear  had  climbed  the  cliflf  which 
bounded  the  Second  Mesa.  Though  on  this  oc- 
casion he  had  thought  fit  to  run  away,  there  was 
little  doubt  but  that  he  would  live  to  fight  an- 
other day. 

"  Father,"  said  I,  as  we  sat  together  at  break- 
fast, "  may  Joe  and  I  go  and  trail  him  up  ?  If 
he  keeps  on  bleeding  it  ought  to  be  easy, 
and  it  is  just  possible  that  we  might  find  him 
dead." 

My  father  at  first  shook  his  head,  but  pres- 
entlv,   reconsidering,   he  replied  :     "  Well,  you 


I  8         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

may  go ;  but  you  must  go  on  your  ponies  :  it's 
too  dangerous  to  go  a-foot.  And  in  any  case,  if 
the  trail  leads  you  up  to  the  loose  rocks  or  into 
the  big  timber  you  must  stop.  You  know  what 
a  tricky  beast  Big  Reuben  is.  If  he  sees  that 
he  is  followed  he  will  lie  in  hiding  and  jump  out 
on  you.  That's  how  he  caught  Jed  Smith,  you 
remember." 

"We'll  take  care,  father,"  said  I.  "We'll 
stick  to  our  ponies,  and  then  we  shall  be  all 
safe." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  be  off  with  you." 
With  this  permission  we  set  off,  I  carrying  a 
rifle  and  Joe  his  "  old  cannon,"  as  he  called  the 
big  shotgun ;  each  with  a  crust  of  bread  and  a 
slice  or  two  of  bacon  in  his  pocket  by  way  of 
lunch.  Picking  up  the  trail  where  we  had  left 
it  at  the  foot  of  the  Second  Mesa,  we  scrambled 
up  the  little  cliff,  looking  out  very  sharply  lest 
Big  Reuben  should  be  lying  in  wait  for  us  in 
some  crevice,  and  finding  that  the  tracks  led 
straight  away  for  Mount  Lincoln,  we  followed 
them,  I  doing  the  tracking  while  Joe  kept  watch 
ahead.  The  surface  of  the  Second  Mesa  was  very 
uneven  :  there  were  many  little  rocky  hills  and 
many  small  canons,  some  of  the  latter  as  much 


Big   Reuben's  Raid  19 

as  a  hundred  feet  deep,  so,  keeping  in  mind  the 
bear's  crafty  nature,  whenever  the  trail  led  us 
near  any  of  these  obstacles  I  would  stand  still 
while  Joe  examined  the  caiion  or  the  rocks,  as 
the  case  might  be. 

Every  time  we  did  this,  however,  we  drew  a 
blank.  The  trail  continued  to  lead  straight 
away  for  the  mountain  without  diverging  to  one 
side  or  the  other,  and  for  five  or  six  miles  we 
followed  it  until  the  stunted  cedars  began  to 
give  place  to  pine  trees,  when  we  decided  that 
we  might  as  well  stop,  especially  as  for  some 
time  past  there  had  ceased  to  be  any  blood- 
marks  on  the  stones  and  we  had  been  following 
only  the  occasional  imprint  of  the  bear's  paws  in 
the  patches  of  sand. 

"  The  trail  is  headed  straight  for  that  rocky 
gorge,  Phil,"  said  my  companion,  pointing  for- 
ward, "  and  it's  no  use  going  on.  Even  if  your 
father  hadn't  forbidden  it,  I  wouldn't  go  into 
that  gorge,  knowing  that  Big  Reuben  was  in 
there  somewhere,  not  if  the  county  commission- 
ers should  offer  me  the  whole  county  as  a 
reward." 

"  Nor  I,  either,"  said  I.  "  Big  Reuben  may 
have  his  mountain  all  to  himself  as  far  as  I'm 


20         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

concerned.  So,  come  on  ;  let's  get  back.  What 
time  is  it?  " 

*'  After  noon,"  replied  Joe,  looking  up  at  the 
sun.  "  We've  been  a  long  time  coming,  but  it 
won't  take  us  more  than  half  the  time  going 
back.     Let's  dig  out  at  once." 

Turning  our  ponies,  we  set  off  at  an  easy  lope, 
and  had  ridden  about  two  miles  on  the  back 
track  when,  skirting  along  the  edge  of  one  of 
the  little  canons  I  have  mentioned,  we  noticed 
a  tiny  spring  of  water,  which,  issuing  from  the 
face  of  the  clifP  close  to  the  top,  fell  in  a  thin 
thread  into  the  chasm. 

"  Joe,"  said  I,  "  let's  stop  here  and  eat  our 
lunch.     I'm  getting  pretty  hungry." 

"  All  right,"  said  Joe  ;  and  in  another  minute 
we  were  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  with  our 
feet  dangling  in  space,  munching  our  bread  and 
bacon,  while  the  ponies,  with  the  reins  hanging 
loose,  were  cropping  the  scanty  grass  just  be- 
hind us. 

About  five  feet  below  where  we  sat  was  a  little 
ledge  some  eighteen  inches  wide,  which,  on  our 
left,  gradually  sloped  upward  until  it  came  to 
the  top,  while  in  the  other  direction  it  sloped 
downward,  diminishing  in  width  until  it  "  pe- 


Big   Reuben's  Raid  21 

tered  out "  entirely.  The  little  spring  fell  upon 
this  ledge,  and  running  along  it,  fell  off  again  at 
its  lower  end.  As  the  best  place  to  fill  our  tin 
cup  was  where  the  water  struck  the  ledge,  we, 
when  we  had  finished  our  lunch,  walked  down 
to  that  point. 

Filling  the  cup,  I  was  in  the  act  of  handing 
it  to  Joe,  who  was  behind  me,  when  a  sudden 
clatter  of  hoofs  caused  us  to  straighten  up. 
Our  eyes  came  just  above  the  level  of  the  cliff", 
and  the  first  thing  they  encountered  was  Big 
Reuben  himself,  not  ten  feet  away,  coming 
straight  for  us  at  a  run  ! 

"  Duck  !  "  yelled  Joe  ;  and  down  we  went — 
only  just  in  time,  too,  for  the  bear's  great  claws 
rattled  on  the  surface  of  the  rock  as  he  made  a 
slap  at  us. 

Where  had  he  come  from  ?  Had  he  followed 
us  back  from  the  mountain  ?  Hardly  :  we  had 
come  too  quickly.  Had  he  seen  us  coming  in 
the  early  morning,  and,  making  a  circuit  out 
of  our  sight,  lain  in  wait  for  us  as  we  returned  ? 
Such  uncanny  cleverness  seemed  hardly  possi- 
ble, even  for  Big  Reuben,  clever  as  he  was  known 
to  be. 

These  questions,  however,  did  not  occur  to  us 


22         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

at  the  moment.  All  that  concerned  us  just  then 
was  that  there  was  Big  Reuben,  looking  down 
at  us  from  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  same  bear 
we  had  interviewed  in  the  night,  for  all  the  hair 
on  one  side  of  his  face  was  singed  off  where  I 
had  thrust  at  him  with  the  torch,  while  one  of 
his  ears  was  tattered  and  bloody,  showing  that 
some  of  Joe's  buck-shot,  at  least,  had  got  him  as 
he  dropped  from  the  window. 

Joe  and  I  were  on  our  hands  and  knees,  when 
the  bear,  going  down  upon  his  chest,  reached  for 
us  with  one  of  his  paws.  He  could  not  quite 
touch  us,  but  he  came  so  uncomfortably  close 
that  we  crept  away  down  the  ledge,  which, 
dipping  pretty  sharply,  soon  put  us  out  of  his 
reach  altogether. 

Seeing  this,  the  bear  rose  to  his  feet  again, 
gazed  at  us  for  a  moment,  and  then  stepped 
back  out  of  sight. 

"  Has  he  gone?  "  I  whispered  ;  but  before  Joe 
could  answer  Big  Reuben  appeared  again,  walk- 
ing down  the  ledge  towards  us.  Of  course  we 
sidled  away  from  him,  until  the  ledge  had  be- 
come so  narrow  that  I  could  go  no  farther ;  and 
lucky  it  was  for  us  that  the  ledge  was  narrow, 


Big  Reuben's  Raid  23 

for  what  was  standing-room  for  us  was  by  no 
means  standing-room  for  the  bear  :  his  body  was 
much  too  thick  to  allow  him  to  come  near  us, 
or  even  to  approach  the  spot  whence  we  had  just 
retreated. 

As  it  was  obvious  that  the  bear  could  advance 
no  farther,  for  he  was  standing  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  ledge  and  there  was  a  bulge  in  the  rock 
before  him  which  would  inevitably  have  pushed 
him  off  into  the  chasm  had  he  attempted  to 
pass  it,  Joe  and  I  returned  to  the  spring,  where 
we  had  room  to  stand  or  to  sit  down  as  we 
wished. 

The  enemy  watched  our  approach,  with  a 
glint  of  malice  in  his  little  piggy  eyes,  but 
when  he  saw  that  we  intended  to  come  no 
nearer,  he  lay  down  where  he  was  and  began 
unconcernedly  licking  his  paws. 

"  He  thinks  he  can  starve  us  out,"  said  Joe ; 
"  but  if  I'm  not  mistaken  we  can  stand  it  longer 
than  he  can,  even  if  he  did  eat  half  a  pig  last 
night.  And  there's  one  thing  certain,  Phil :  if 
we  don't  get  home  to-night,  somebody  will  come 
to  look  for  us  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,"  I  assented.  "  But  they'll  get  a  pretty 
bad  scare  at  home  if  we  don't  turn  up.     Is  there 


24        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

no  way  of  sending  that  beast  off?  If  we  could 
only  get  hold  of  one  of  the  guns " 

By  standing  upright  we  could  see  my  rifle 
lying  on  the  ground  and  Joe's  big  gun  standing 
with  its  muzzle  pointed  skyward,  leaning  against 
a  boulder.  They  were  only  six  feet  away,  but 
six  feet  were  six  feet :  we  could  not  reach  them 
without  climbing  up,  and  that  was  out  of  the 
question — the  bear  could  get  there  much  more 
quickly  than  we  could. 

"  Phil !  "  exclaimed  my  companion,  suddenly. 
"  Have  you  got  any  twine  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  pulling  out  a  long,  stout 
piece  of  string.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  we  can  '  rope '  my  gun.  See,  its 
muzzle  stands  clear.  Then  we  could  drag  it 
within  reach." 

I  very  soon  had  a  noose  made,  and  being  the 
more  expert  roper  of  the  two  I  swung  it  round 
and  round  my  head,  keeping  the  loop  wide  open, 
and  thrcAV  it.  My  very  first  cast  was  successful. 
The  noose  fell  over  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  and 
settled  half  way  down  the  barrel,  where  it  was 
stopped  by  the  rock. 

"  Good  !  "  whispered  Joe.  "  Now,  tighten  it 
up  gently  and  pull  the  gun  over." 


Big  Reuben's  Raid  25 

I  followed  these  directions,  and  presently  we 
heai'd  the  gun  fall  with  a  clatter  upon  the 
rocks;  for,  fearing  it  might  go  off  when  it 
fell,  we  had  both  ducked  below  the  rim  of  the 
wall. 

Our  actions  had  made  the  bear  suspicious,  and 
when  the  gun  came  clattering  down  he  rose  upon 
his  hind  feet  and  looked  about  him.  Seeing 
nothing  moving,  however,  he  came  down  again, 
when  I  at  once  began  to  pull  the  gun  gently  to- 
wards me,  keeping  my  head  down  all  the  time 
lest  one  of  the  hammers,  catching  against  a  rock, 
should  explode  the  charge. 

At  length,  thinking  it  should  be  near  enough, 
I  ceased  pulling,  when  Joe  straightened  up, 
reached  out,  and,  to  my  great  delight,  when  he 
withdrew  his  hand  the  gun  was  in  it. 

Ah  !  What  a  difference  it  made  in  our  situa- 
tion ! 

Joe,  first  opening  the  breach  to  make  sure  the 
gun  was  loaded,  advanced  as  near  the  bear  as  he 
dared,  and  kneeling  down  took  careful  aim  at 
his  chest.  But  presently  he  lowered  the  gun 
again,  and  turning  to  me,  said : 

'*  Phil,  can  you  do  anything  to  make  him  turn 
his  head  so  that  I  can  get  a  chance  at  him  be- 


26         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

hind  the  ear?  I'm  afraid  a  shot  in  front  may 
only  wound  him." 

''All  right,"  said  L     "  I'll  try." 

With  my  knife  I  pried  out  of  the  face  of  the 
cliff  a  piece  of  stone  about  the  size  and  shape  of 
the  palm  of  my  hand,  and  aiming  carefully  I 
threw  it  at  the  bear.  It  struck  him  on  the  very 
point  of  his  nose — a  tender  spot — and  seemingly 
hurt  him  a  good  deal,  for,  with  an  angry  snarl, 
he  rose  upright  on  his  hind  feet. 

At  that  instant  a  terrific  report  resounded  up 
and  down  the  caiion,  the  whole  charge  of  Joe's 
ponderous  weapon  struck  the  bear  full  in  the 
chest — I  could  see  the  hole  it  made — and  with- 
out a  sound  the  great  beast  dropped  from  the 
ledge,  fell  a  hundred  feet  upon  the  rocks  below, 
bounded  two  or  three  times  and  then  lay  still, 
all  doubled  up  in  a  heap  at  the  bottom. 

Big  Reuben  had  killed  his  last  pig ! 


CHAPTER  II 

Crawford's  Basin 

YOU  might  think,  perhaps,  as  many  people 
in  our  neighborhood  thought,  that  Joe  was 
my  brother.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  no  re- 
lation at  all ;  he  had  dropped  in  upon  us,  a 
stranger,  two  years  before,  and  had  stayed  with 
us  ever  since. 

It  was  in  the  haying  season  that  he  came,  at 
a  moment  when  my  father  and  I  were  over- 
whelmed with  work  ;  for  it  was  the  summer  of 
1879,  the  year  of  "  the  Leadville  excitement," 
when  all  the  able-bodied  men  in  the  district 
were  either  rushing  off  to  Leadville  itself  or 
going  off  prospecting  all  over  the  mountains 
in  the  hope  of  unearthing  other  Leadvilles. 
Ranch  work  was  much  too  slow  for  them,  and 
as  a  consequence  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  se- 
cure any  help  that  was  worth  having. 

What  made  it  all  the  more  provoking  was 
that  we  had  that  year  an  extra-fine  stand  of 
grass — the  weather,  too,  was  magnificent — yet, 
27 


28         The   Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

unless  we  could  get  help,  it  was  hardly  likely 
that  we  could  take  full  advantage  of  our  splen- 
did hay-crop. 

Nevertheless,  as  what  could  not  be  cured  must 
be  endured,  my  father  and  I  tackled  the  job  our- 
selves, working  early  and  late,  and  we  were  mak- 
ing very  good  progress,  all  things  considered, 
when  we  had  the  misfortune  to  break  a  small 
casting  in  our  mowing-machine ;  a  mishap  which 
would  probably  entail  a  delay  of  several  days 
until  we  could  get  the  piece  replaced. 

It  was  just  before  noon  that  this  happened,  and 
we  had  brought  the  machine  up  to  the  wagon- 
shed  and  had  put  up  the  horses,  when,  on  step- 
ping out  of  the  stable,  we  were  accosted  by  a  tall, 
black  haired,  blue  eyed  young  fellow  of  about 
my  own  age,  who  asked  if  he  could  get  a  job 
with  us. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  replied  my  father,  promptly  ; 
and  then,  remembering  the  accident  to  the  ma- 
chine, he  added,  "  at  least,  you  can  as  soon  as  I 
get  this  casting  replaced,"  holding  out  the  broken 
piece  as  he  spoke. 

"  May  I  look  at  it?  "  asked  the  young  fellow  ; 
and  taking  it  in  his  hand  he  went  on  :  "  I  see  you 
have  a  blacksmith-shop  over  there ;  I  think   I 


Crawford's  Basin  29 

can  duplicate  this  for  you  if  you'll  let  me  try  : 
I  was  a  blacksmith's  apprentice  only  a  month 
ago." 

"  Do  3^ou  think  you  can  ?  Well,  you  shall 
certainly  be  allowed  to  try.  But  come  in  now  : 
dinner  will  be  ready  in  five  minutes  ;  you  shall 
try  your  hand  at  blacksmithing  afterwards. 
What's  your  name?  " 

"  Joe  Garnier,"  replied  the  boy.  "  I  come  from 
Iowa.  I  was  going  to  Leadville,  but  I  met  so 
many  men  coming  back,  with  tales  of  what  num- 
bers of  idle  men  there  were  up  there  unable  to 
get  work,  that,  hearing  of  a  place  called  Sulphide 
as  a  rising  camp,  I  decided  to  go  there  instead. 
This  is  the  right  way  to  get  there,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  way  to  Sulphide.  Did  you 
expect  to  get  work  as  a  miner?  " 

"  Well,  I  intended  to  take  any  work  I  could  get, 
but  if  you  can  give  me  employment  here,  I'd  a 
good  deal  rather  work  out  in  the  sun  than  down 
in  a  hole  in  the  ground." 

"  You  replace  that  casting  if  you  can,  and  I'll 
give  you  work  for  a  month,  at  least,  and  longer 
if  we  get  on  well  together." 

'*  Thank  you,"  said  the  stranger;  and  with 
that  we  went  into  the  house. 


30         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

The  newcomer  started  well :  he  won  my  moth- 
er's good  opinion  at  once  by  wiping  his  boots 
carefully  before  entering,  and  by  giving  himself 
a  sousing  good  wash  at  the  pump  before  sitting 
down  to  table.  It  was  plain  he  was  no  ordinary 
tramp — though,  for  that  matter,  the  genus 
"  tramp  "  had  not  yet  invaded  the  three-year-old 
state  of  Colorado — for  his  manners  were  good  ; 
while  his  clear  blue  eyes,  in  contrast  with  his 
brown  face  and  wavy  black  hair,  gave  him  a  re- 
markably bright  and  wide-awake  look. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  we  all  repaired  to 
the  blacksmith-shop,  where  Joe  at  once  went  to 
work.  It  was  very  evident  that  he  knew  what 
he  was  about :  every  blow  seemed  to  count  in  the 
right  direction  ;  so  that  in  about  half  an  hour  he 
had  fashioned  his  piece  of  iron  into  the  desired 
shape,  when  he  plunged  it  into  the  tub  of  water, 
and  then,  clapping  it  into  the  vise,  went  to  work 
on  it  with  a  file  ;  every  now  and  then  comparing 
it  with  the  broken  casting  which  lay  on  the  bench 
beside  him. 

"  There  !  "  he  exclaimed  at  last.  "I  believe  that 
will  fit."  And,  indeed,  when  he  laid  them  side 
by  side,  one  would  have  been  puzzled  to  tell 
which  was  which,  had  not  the  old  piece  been 


Crawford's  Basin  31 

painted  red  while  the  other  was  not  painted  at 
all. 

Joe  was  right :  the  piece  did  fit ;  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  from  the  time  we  had  finished  din- 
ner we  were  at  work  again  in  the  hay-field. 

The  month  which  followed  was  a  strenuous  one, 
but  by  the  end  of  it  we  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  we  had  put  up  the  biggest  crop  of 
hay  ever  cut  on  the  ranch. 

Our  new  helper,  who  was  a  tall,  stout  fellow  for 
his  age,  and  an  untiring  worker,  proved  to  be  a 
capital  hand,  and  though  at  first  he  was  somewhat 
awkward,  being  unused  to  farm  labor,  before  we 
had  finished  he  could  do  a  better  day's  work  than 
I  could,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  had  been  a 
ranch  boy  ever  since  I  had  been  a  boy  at  all. 

We  all  took  a  great  liking  for  Joe,  and  we  were 
very  pleased,  therefore,  when,  the  hay  being  in, 
it  was  arranged  that  he  should  stay  on.  For 
there  was  plenty  of  work  to  be  done  that  year — 
extra  work,  I  mean — such  as  building  fences, 
putting  up  an  ice-house  and  so  forth,  in  which 
Joe,  having  a  decided  mechanical  turn,  proved  a 
valuable  assistant.  So,  when  the  spring  came 
round  again  it  found  Joe  still  with  us ;  and  with 
us  he  continued  to  stay,  becoming  so  much  one 


32         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

of  the  family  that  many  people,  as  I  said,  who 
did  not  know  his  story,  supposed  that  he  and  I 
were  brothers  in  fact,  as  we  soon  learned  to  be- 
come brothers  in  feeling. 

Long  before  this,  of  course,  Joe  had  told  us  all 
about  himself  and  how  he  had  come  to  leave  his 
old  home  and  make  his  way  westward. 

Of  French-Canadian  descent,  the  boy,  left  an 
orphan  at  three  years  of  age,  had  been  taken  in 
by  a  neighbor,  a  kind-hearted  blacksmith,  and 
with  him  he  had  lived  for  the  twelve  years 
following,  when  the  blacksmith,  now  an  old  man, 
had  decided  to  go  out  of  business.  Just  at  this 
time  "  the  Leadville  excitement  "  was  making  a 
great  stir  in  the  country  ;  thousands  of  men 
were  heading  for  the  new  Eldorado,  and  Joe, 
his  old  friend  consenting,  determined  to  join  the 
throng. 

It  was,  perhaps,  lucky  for  the  young  black- 
smith that  he  started  rather  late,  for,  on  his 
approach  to  the  mountains,  he  encountered  files 
of  disappointed  men  streaming  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  hearing  their  stories  of  the  over- 
crowded condition  of  things  in  Leadville,  he 
determined  to  try  instead  the  mining  camp  of 
Sulphide,  when,  passing  our  place  on  the  way 


Crawford's  Basin  33 

he  was  caught  by  my  father,  as  I  have  described, 
and  turned  into  a  ranchman. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  with  us  when 
Big  Keuben  made  his  final  raid  upon  our  pig- 
pen. 

The  reward  of  one  hundred  dollars  which  the 
county  paid  us  for  our  exploit  in  ridding  the 
community  of  Big  Reuben's  presence  came  in 
very  handily  for  Joe  and  me.  It  enabled  us  to 
achieve  an  object  for  which  we  had  long  been 
hoarding  our  savings — the  purchase  of  a  pair  of 
mules. 

For  the  past  two  years,  in  the  slack  season, 
after  the  gathering  of  our  hay  and  potato  crops, 
we  had  hired  out  during  the  fine  weather  re- 
maining to  a  man  whose  business  it  was  to  cut 
and  haul  timbers  for  the  mines  in  and  around 
the  town  of  Sulphide,  which  lay  in  the  moun- 
tains seven  miles  southwestward  from  our  ranch. 
We  found  it  congenial  work,  and  Joe  and  I,  who 
were  now  seventeen  years  old,  hardened  to  labor 
with  ax,  shovel  or  pitchfork,  saw  no  reason  why 
we  should  not  put  in  these  odd  five  or  six  weeks 
cutting  timbers  on  our  own  account.  No  reason 
but  one,  that  is  to  say.  My  father  would  readily 
lend  us  one  of  his  wagons,  but  he  could  not  spare 


34        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

a  team,  and  so,  until  we  could  procure  a  team  of 
our  own,  we  were  obliged  to  forego  the  honor 
and  glory — to  say  nothing  of  the  expected  prof- 
its— of  setting  up  as  an  independent  firm. 

Now,  however,  we  had  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly acquired  the  necessary  funds,  and  with 
the  money  in  our  pockets  away  we  went  at  once 
to  Ole  Johnson's,  from  whom  we  bought  a  stout 
little  pair  of  mouse-colored  mules  upon  which 
we  had  long  had  an  eye. 

But  though  the  firm  of  Crawford  and  Gamier 
might  now,  if  it  pleased,  consider  itself  estab- 
lished, it  could  not  enter  upon  the  practice  of  its 
business  for  some  time  yet.  It  was  still  the  mid- 
dle of  summer,  and  there  was  plenty  to  do  on  the 
ranch  :  the  hay  and  the  oats  would  be  ready  to 
cut  in  two  weeks,  while  after  that  there  were  the 
potatoes  to  gather — a  very  heavy  piece  of  work. 

All  these  tasks  had  to  be  cleared  out  of  the 
way  before  we  could  move  up  to  Sulphide  to 
begin  on  our  timber-cutting  enterprise.  But 
between  the  harvesting  of  the  oats  and  the 
gathering  of  the  potato-crop  there  occurred  an 
incident,  which,  besides  being  remarkable  in 
itself,  had  a  very  notable  effect  upon  my  father's 
fortunes — and,  incidentally,  upon  our  own. 


Crawford's  Basin  35 

To  make  understandable  the  ins  and  outs  of 
this  matter,  I  must  pause  a  moment  to  describe 
the  situation  of  our  ranch ;  for  it  is  upon  the 
peculiarity  of  its  situation  that  much  of  my  story 
hinges. 

Anybody  traveling  westward  from  San  Remo, 
the  county  seat,  with  the  idea  of  getting  up 
into  the  mountains,  would  encounter,  about  a 
mile  from  town,  a  rocky  ridge,  which,  running 
north  and  south,  extended  for  several  miles  each 
way.  Ascending  this  bluff  and  still  going  west- 
ward, he  would  presently  encounter  a  second 
ridge,  the  counterpart  of  the  first,  and  climb- 
ing that  in  turn  he  would  find  himself  upon 
the  wide-spreading  plateau  known  as  the  Sec- 
ond Mesa,  which  extended,  without  present- 
ing any  serious  impediment,  to  the  foot  of  the 
range — itself  one  of  the  finest  and  ruggedest 
masses  of  mountains  in  the  whole  state  of  Colo- 
rado. 

In  a  deep  depression  of  the  First  Mesa — 
known  as  Crawford's  Basin — lay  our  ranch. 
This  "  Basin  "  was  evidently  an  ancient  lake- 
bed — as  one  could  tell  by  the  "  benches  "  sur- 
rounding it — but  the  water  of  the  lake  having 
in  the  course  of  ages  sawed  its  way  out  through 


36         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  rocky  barrier,  now  ran  off  through  a  little 
caiion  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long. 

The  natural  way  for  us  to  get  from  the  ranch 
down  to  San  Remo  was  to  follow  the  stream 
down  this  canon,  but,  curiously  enough,  for  more 
than  half  the  year  this  road  was  impassable. 
The  lower  end  of  Crawford's  Basin,  for  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  back  from  the  entrance  of  the 
canon,  was  so  soft  and  water-logged  that  not 
even  an  empty  wagon  could  pass  over  it.  In 
fact,  so  soft  was  it  that  we  could  not  get  upon  it 
to  cut  hay  and  were  obliged  to  leave  the  splendid 
stand  of  grass  that  grew  there  as  a  winter  pasture. 
In  the  cold  weather,  when  the  ground  froze  up,  it 
was  all  right,  but  at  the  first  breath  of  spring  it 
began  to  soften,  and  from  then  until  winter 
again  we  could  do  nothing  with  it.  It  was,  in 
fact,  little  better  than  a  source  of  annoyance  to 
us,  for,  until  we  fenced  it  off,  our  milk  cows, 
tempted  by  the  luxuriant  grass,  were  always 
getting  themselves  mired  there. 

This  wet  patch  was  known  to  every  teamster 
in  the  county  as  "  the  bottomless  forty  rods," 
and  was  shunned  by  them  like  a  pestilence.  Its 
existence  was  a  great  drawback  to  us,  for,  be- 
tween San  Remo,  where  the  smelters  were,  and 


Crawford's  Basin  37 

the  town  of  Sulphide,  where  the  mines  were, 
there  was  a  constant  stream  of  wagons  passing 
up  and  down,  carrying  ore  to  the  smelters  and 
bringing  back  provisions,  tools  and  all  the  other 
multitudinous  necessaries  required  by  the  popu- 
lation of  a  busy  mining  town.  Had  it  not  been 
for  the  presence  of  "  the  bottomless  forty  rods," 
all  these  wagons  would  have  come  through  our 
place  and  we  should  have  done  a  great  trade  in 
oats  and  hay  with  the  teamsters.  But  as  it  was, 
they  all  took  the  mesa  road,  which,  though 
three  miles  longer  and  necessitating  the  descent 
of  a  long,  steep  hill  where  the  road  came  down 
from  the  First  Mesa  to  the  plains,  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  hard  and  sound  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year. 

My  father  had  spent  much  time  and  labor  in 
the  attempt  to  make  a  permanent  road  through 
this  morass,  cutting  trenches  and  throwing  in 
load  after  load  of  stones  and  brush  and  earth, 
but  all  in  vain,  and  at  length  he  gave  it  up — 
though  with  great  reluctance.  For,  not  only 
did  the  teamsters  avoid  us,  but  we,  ourselves, 
when  we  wished  to  go  with  a  load  to  San  Remo, 
were  obliged  to  ascend  to  the  mesa  and  go  down 
by  the  hill  road. 


38         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

The  cause  of  this  wet  spot  was  apparently  an 
underground  stream  which  came  to  the  surface 
at  that  point.  The  creek  which  supplied  us 
with  water  for  irrigation  had  its  sources  on 
Mount  Lincoln  and  falling  from  the  Second 
Mesa  into  our  Basin  in  a  little  waterfall  some 
twelve  feet  high,  it  had  scooped  out  a  circu- 
lar hole  in  the  rock  about  a  hundred  feet 
across  and  then,  running  down  the  length  of  the 
valley,  found  its  way  out  through  the  canon. 
Now  this  creek  received  no  accession  from  any 
other  stream  in  its  course  across  the  Basin,  but 
for  all  that  the  amount  of  water  in  the  canon 
was  twice  as  great  as  that  which  came  over 
the  fall ;  showing  conclusivel}^  that  the  marsh 
whence  the  increase  came  must  be  supplied  by  a 
very  strong  underground  stream. 

The  greater  part  of  Crawford's  Basin  was 
owned  by  my  father,  Philip  Crawford,  the  elder, 
but  a  portion  of  it,  about  thirty  acres  at  the 
upper  end,  including  the  pool,  the  waterfall  and 
the  best  part  of  the  potato  land,  was  owned  by 
Simon  Yetmore,  of  Sulphide. 

My  father  was  very  desirous  of  purchasing 
this  piece  of  ground,  for  it  would  round  out  the 
ranch  to  perfection,  but  Yetmore,  knowing  how 


Crawford's  Basin  39 

much  he  desired  it,  asked  such  an  unreasonable 
price  that  their  bargaining  always  fell  through. 
Being  unable  to  buy  it,  my  father  therefore 
leased  it,  paying  the  rent  in  the  form  of  potatoes 
delivered  at  Yetmore's  store  in  Sulphide — for 
Simon,  besides  being  mayor  of  Sulphide  and 
otherwise  a  person  of  importance,  was  proprie- 
tor of  Yetmore's  Emporium,  by  far  the  largest 
general  store  in  town. 

He  was  an  enterprising  citizen,  Simon  was, 
always  having  many  irons  in  the  fire ;  a  clever 
fellow,  too,  in  his  way ;  though  his  way  was  not 
exactly  to  the  taste  of  some  people :  he  drove 
too  hard  a  bargain.  In  fact,  the  opinion  was 
pretty  general  that  his  name  fitted  him  to  a 
nicety,  for,  however  much  he  might  get,  he 
always  wanted  yet  more. 

My  father  distrusted  him  ;  yet,  strange  to  say, 
in  spite  of  that  fact,  and  of  the  added  fact  that 
he  had  always  fought  shy  of  all  mining  schemes, 
he  and  Yetmore  were  partners  in  a  prospecting 
venture.  It  was,  in  a  measure,  an  accident,  and 
it  came  about  in  this  way  : 

The  smelter-men  down  at  San  Remo  were 
always  crying  out  for  more  lead-ores  to  mix 
with  the  "  refractory  "  ores  produced  by  most  of 


40         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  mines  in  our  district,  publishing  a  standing 
offer  of  an  extra-good  price  for  all  ores  contain- 
ing more  than  a  stated  percentage  of  lead.  In 
spite  of  the  stimulus  this  offer  gave  to  the  pros- 
pecting of  the  mountains,  north,  south  and  west 
of  us,  there  had  been  found  but  one  mine,  the 
Samson,  of  which  the  chief  product  was  lead, 
and  this  did  not  furnish  nearly  enough  to  satisfy 
the  wants  of  the  smelter-men. 

Its  discovery,  however,  proved  the  existence 
of  veins  of  galena — the  ore  from  which  lead 
chiefly  comes — in  one  part  of  the  district,  and 
the  prospectors  became  more  active  than  ever ; 
though  without  result.  That  section  of  country 
where  the  Samson  had  been  discovered  was 
deeply  overlaid  with  "  wash,"  and  as  the  veins 
were  "  blanket  "  veins — lying  flat,  that  is — and 
did  not  crop  out  above  the  surface,  their  dis- 
covery was  pretty  much  a  matter  of  chance. 

Among  the  prospectors  was  one,  Tom  Connor, 
who,  having  had  experience  in  the  lead-mines  of 
Missouri,  proposed  to  adopt  one  of  the  methods 
of  prospecting  in  use  in  that  country,  to  wit,  the 
core-drill.  But  to  procure  and  operate  a  core- 
drill  required  money,  and  this  Tom  Connor  had 
not.     He  therefore  applied  to  Simon  Yetmore, 


Crawford's    Basin  41 

who  agreed  to  suppl}^  part  of  the  necessary  funds 
— making  good  terms  for  himself,  you  may  be 
sure — if  Tom  would  provide  the  rest.  The  rest, 
however,  was  rather  more  than  the  sum-total  of 
Tom's  scanty  capital,  and  so  he  came  to  my 
father,  who  was  an  old  friend  of  his,  and  asked 
him  to  make  up  the  difference. 

My  father  declined  to  take  any  share  in  the 
enterprise,  for,  though  most  of  the  ranchmen 
round  about  were  more  or  less  interested  in 
mining,  he  himself  looked  upon  it  as  being  too 
near  akin  to  gambling  ;  but  feeling  well  disposed 
towards  Tom,  and  the  sum  required  being  very 
moderate,  he  lent  his  friend  the  money,  quite 
prepared,  knowing  Tom's  optimistic,  harum- 
scarum  character,  never  to  see  it  again. 

In  this  expectation,  however,  he  was  happily 
deceived.  It  is  true  he  did  not  get  back  his 
money,  but  he  received  his  money's  worth,  and 
that  in  a  very  curious  way. 


CHAPTER  III 

Yetmore's  Mistake 

THREE  months  had  elapsed  when  Tom  Con- 
nor turned  up  one  day  with  a  very  long 
face.  All  his  drilling  had  brought  no  result ; 
he  was  at  the  end  of  his  tether ;  he  could  see  no 
possible  chance  of  ever  repaying  the  borrowed 
money,  and  so,  said  he,  would  my  father  take 
his  interest  in  the  drill  in  settlement  of  the 
debt? 

Very  reluctantly  my  father  consented — for 
what  did  he  want  with  a  one-third  share  in  a 
core-drill? — whereupon  Tom,  the  load  of  debt 
being  oflP  his  mind,  brightened  up  again  in  an 
instant — he  was  a  most  mercurial  fellow — and 
forthwith  he  fell  to  begging  my  father's  consent 
to  his  making  one  more  attempt — just  one.  He 
was  sure  of  striking  it  this  time,  he  had  studied 
the  formation  carefully  and  he  had  selected  a 
spot  where  the  chances  of  disappointment  were, 
as  he  declared,  "  next-to-nothing." 

My  father  knew  Tom  well  enough  to  know 
that  he  had  been  just  as  sure  twenty  times  before, 
42 


Yetmore's  Mistake  43 

but  Tom  was  so  eager  and  so  plausible  that  at 
last  he  agreed  that  he  should  sink  one  more  hole 
— but  no  more. 

"And  mind  you,  Tom,"  said  he,  '*  I  won't 
spend  more  than  fifty  dollars ;  that  is  the  very 
utmost  I  can  afford,  and  I  believe  I  am  only 
throwing  that  away.  But  I'll  spend  fifty  just  to 
satisfy  you — but  that's  all,  mind  you." 

"Fifty  dollars!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "Fifty! 
Bless  you,  that'll  be  more  than  enough.  Twenty 
ought  to  do  it.  I'm  going  to  make  your  fortune 
for  twenty  dollars,  Mr.  Crawford,  and  glad  of  the 
chance.  You've  treated  me  '  white,'  and  the 
more  I  can  make  for  you  the  better  I'll  be  pleased. 
Inside  of  a  week  I'll  be  coming  back  here  with  a 
lead-mine  in  my  pocket — you  see  if  I  don't." 

"  All  right,  Tom,"  said  my  father,  laughing, 
as  he  shook  hands  with  him.  "  I  shall  be  glad 
to  have  it,  even  if  it  is  only  a  pocket  edition. 
So,  good-bye,  old  man,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

It  was  two  days  after  this  that  my  father  at 
breakfast  time  turned  to  us  and  said  : 

"  Boys,  how  would  you  like  to  take  your  ponies 
and  go  and  see  Tom  Connor  at  work  ?  There  is 
not  much  to  do  on  the  ranch  just  now,  and  an 
outing  of  two  or  three  days  will  do  you  good." 


44         The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

Needless  to  say,  we  jumped  at  the  chance,  and 
as  soon  as  we  could  get  off,  away  we  went,  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  making  an  expedition 
into  the  mountains. 

The  place  where  Tom  was  at  work  was  thirty 
miles  beyond  Sulphide,  a  long  ride,  nearly  all 
up  hill,  and  it  was  not  till  towards  sunset  that 
we  approached  his  camp.  As  we  did  so,  a  very 
surprising  sight  met  our  gaze  :  three  men,  close 
together,  with  their  backs  to  us,  down  on  their 
hands  and  knees,  like  Mahomedans  saying  their 
prayers. 

"  What  are  they  up  to?  "  asked  Joe.  "  Have 
they  lost  something?  " 

At  this  moment,  my  horse's  hoof  striking  a 
stone  caused  the  three  men  to  look  up.  One  was 
Connor,  one  was  his  helper,  and  the  other,  to  our 
surprise,  was  Yetmore. 

Connor  sprang  to  his  feet  and  ran  towards  us, 
crying  : 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  boys  !  What  did  I  tell 
you  !  Get  off  your  ponies,  quick,  and  come  and 
see  ! " 

He  was  wild  with  excitement. 

We  slid  from  our  horses,  and  joining  the  other 
two,   went    down    on    our    knees    beside  them. 


Yetmore's  Mistake  45 

Upon  the  ground  before  them  lay  the  object  of 
their  worship:  a  "core"  from  the  drill,  neatly 
pieced  together,  about  eight  feet  long  and  some- 
thing less  than  an  inch  in  diameter.  Of  this  core, 
four  feet  or  more  at  one  end  and  about  half  a  foot 
at  the  other  was  composed  of  some  kind  of  stone, 
but  in  between,  for  a  length  of  three  feet  and  an 
inch  or  two,  it  was  all  smooth,  shining  lead-ore. 

Tom  Connor  had  struck  it,  and  no  mistake ! 

"  Tom,"  said  Yetmore,  as  we  all  rose  to  our 
feet  again,  "  this  loohs  like  a  pretty  fair  strike  ;  but 
you've  got  to  remember  that  we  know  nothing 
about  the  extent  of  the  vein — one  hole  doesn't 
prove  much.  It  is  three  feet  thick  at  this  par- 
ticular point,  but  it  may  be  only  three  inches 
five  feet  away  ;  and  as  to  its  length  and  breadth, 
why,  that's  all  pure  speculation.  All  the  same 
I'm  ready  to  make  a  deal  with  you.  I'll  buy 
your  interest  or  I'll  sell  you  mine.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  that  kind  of  talk  ?  "  growled 
Connor.  "  You  know  I  haven't  a  cent  to  my 
name.     Besides,  I  haven't  any  interest." 

"  You — what ! — you  haven't  any  interest !  " 
cried  the  other.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I've  sold  it." 


46         The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Sold  it  I     Who  to  ?  " 

"  To  Mr.  Crawford,  two  days  ago." 

"  Well,  you  are  a "  Yetmore  began  ;  but 

catching  sight  of  Tom's  glowering  face  he  stopped 
and  substituted,  "  Well,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  Well,  I  ain't,"  said  Tom,  shortly.  "  If  Mr. 
Crawford  makes  a  fortune  out  of  it  I'll  be  mighty 
well  pleased.     He's  treated  me  '  white,'  he  has." 

From  the  tone  and  manner  of  this  remark  it 
was  easy  to  guess  that  Tom  did  not  love  Mr.  Yet- 
more  :  he  had  found  him  a  difficult  partner  to 
get  along  with,  probably. 

"  I  certainly  hope  he  will,"  said  Yetmore,  smil- 
ing, "  for  if  he  does  I  shall.  Sold  it  to  Mr.  Craw- 
ford, eh  ?  So  that  accounts  for  you  two  boys  be- 
ing up  here.  Got  here  just  in  time,  didn't  you  ? 
You'll  stay  over  to-morrow,  of  course,  and  see 
Tom  uncover  the  vein  ?  " 

"■  Are  you  proposing  to  uncover  it,  Tom  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes.  It's  only  four  feet  down ;  one  shot 
will  do  it.  You'll  stay  too,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Yet- 
more? " 

''  Certainly,"  replied  the  other.  But  as  he  said 
it,  I  saw  a  change  come  over  his  face — it  was  a 
leathery    face,  with  a  large,  long   nose.     Some 


Yetmore's   Mistake  47 

idea  had  occurred  to  him  I  was  sure,  especially 
when,  seeing  that  I  was  looking  at  him,  he 
dropped  his  eyes,  as  though  fearing  they  might 
betray  him. 

Whatever  the  idea  might  be,  however,  I  ceased 
to  think  of  it  when  Tom  suggested  that  it  was 
getting  late  and  that  we  had  better  adjourn  to 
the  cabin  for  supper. 

Taking  our  ponies  over  to  the  log  stable,  there- 
fore, we  gave  them  a  good  feed  of  oats,  and  soon 
afterwards  were  ourselves  seated  before  a  steam- 
ing hot  meal  of  ham,  bread  and  coffee;  after  which 
we  spent  an  hour  talking  over  the  great  strike, 
and  then,  crawling  into  the  bunks,  we  very 
quickly  fell  asleep. 

Early  next  morning  we  walked  about  half  a 
mile  up  the  mountain  to  the  scene  of  the  strike, 
when,  having  first  shoveled  away  two  or  three 
feet  of  loose  stuff,  Tom  and  his  helper  set  to  work, 
one  holding  the  drill  and  the  other  plying  the 
hammer,  drilling  a  hole  a  little  to  one  side  of 
the  spot  whence  the  core  had  come. 

They  were  no  more  than  well  started  when 
Yetmore,  remarking  that  he  had  forgotten  his 
tobacco,  walked  back  to  the  cabin  to  get  it — an 
action  to  which  Joe  and  I,  being  interested  in 


48         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  drilling,  paid  little  attention.  It  was  only 
when  Connor,  turning  to  select  a  fresh  drill, 
asked  where  he  was,  that  we  remembered  how 
long  he  had  been  gone. 

"  Gone  back  to  the  cabin,  has  he  ?  "  remarked 
Tom.  "  Well,  he's  welcome  to  stay  there  as  far 
as  I'm  concerned." 

The  work  went  on,  until  presently  Tom  de- 
clared that  they  had  gone  deep  enough,  and 
while  we  others  cleared  away  the  tools,  Connor 
himself  loaded  and  tamped  the  hole. 

"  Now,  get  out  of  the  way !  "  cried  he ;  and 
while  we  ran  off  and  hid  behind  convenient  trees, 
Tom  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  fuse.  The 
dull  thud  of  an  explosion  shortly  followed ;  but 
on  walking  back  to  the  spot  we  were  all  greatly 
surprised  to  see  that  the  rock  had  remained  in- 
tact— it  was  as  solid  as  ever. 

"  Well,  that  beats  all ! "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  The 
thing  has  shot  downward  ;  it  must  be  hollow 
underneath.  We'll  have  to  put  in  some  short 
holes  and  crack  it  up." 

It  did  not  take  long  to  put  in  three  short 
holes,  and  these  being  charged  and  tamped,  we 
once  more  took  refuge  behind  the  trees  while 
Tom  touched  them  off.     This  time  there  were 


Yetmore's  Mistake  49 

three  sharp  explosions,  a  shower  of  fragments 
rattled  through  the  branches  above  our  heads, 
and  on  going  to  inspect  the  result  we  found  that 
the  rock  had  been  so  shattered  that  it  was  an 
easy  matter  to  pry  out  the  pieces  with  pick  and 
crowbar — a  task  of  which  Joe  and  I  did  our 
share. 

At  length,  the  hole  being  now  about  three 
feet  deep,  Joe,  who  was  working  with  a  crow- 
bar, gave  a  mighty  prod  at  a  loose  piece  of  rock, 
when,  to  the  astonishment  of  himself  and  every- 
body else,  the  bottom  of  the  hole  fell  through, 
and  rock,  crowbar  and  all,  disappeared  into  the 
cavity  beneath. 

"  Well,  what  kind  of  a  vein  is  it,  anyhow?" 
cried  Tom,  going  down  upon  his  knees  and  peer- 
ing into  the  darkness.  "  Blest  if  there  isn't  a 
sort  of  cave  down  here.  Knock  out  some  more, 
boys,  and  let  me  get  down.  This  is  the  queerest 
thing  I've  struck  in  a  long  time." 

We  soon  had  the  hole  sufficiently  enlarged, 
when,  by  means  of  a  rope  attached  to  a  tree, 
Tom  slid  down  into  it,  and  lighting  a  candle, 
peered  about. 

Poor  old  Tom  !  The  change  on  his  face  would 
have  been  ludicrous  had  we  not  felt  so  sorrv  for 


50         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

him,  when,  looking  up  at  us  he  said  in  lugubri- 
ous tones  :  "  Done  again,  boys  !  Come  down 
and  see  for  yourselves." 

We  quickly  slid  down  the  rope,  when,  our 
eyes  having  become  accustomed  to  the  light, 
Tom  pointed  out  to  us  the  extraordinary  acci- 
dent that  had  caused  him  to  believe  he  had 
struck  a  three-foot  vein  of  galena. 

Though  there  was  no  sign  of  such  a  thing  on 
the  surface,  it  was  evident  that  the  place  in 
which  we  stood  had  at  one  time  been  a  narrow, 
water-worn  gully  in  the  mountain-side.  Ages 
ago  there  had  been  a  landslide,  filling  the  little 
gully  with  enormous  boulders.  That  these 
rocks  came  from  the  vein  of  the  Samson  higher 
up  the  mountain  was  also  pretty  certain,  for 
among  them  was  one  pear-shaped  boulder  of 
galena  ore,  standing  upright,  upon  the  apex  of 
which  rested  the  immense  four-foot  slab  of  stone 
through  which  Tom  had  bored  his  drill-hole. 
By  a  chance  that  was  truly  marvelous,  the  drill, 
after  piercing  the  great  slab,  had  struck  the  very 
point  of  the  galena  boulder  and  had  gone  through 
it  from  end  to  end,  so  that  when  the  core  came 
up  it  was  no  wonder  that  even  Tom,  experienced 
miner  though  he  was,  should  have  been  deceived 


Yetmore's   Mistake  5 1 

into  the  belief  that  he  had  discovered  a  three- 
foot  vein  of  lead-ore. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  no  vein  at  all — 
just  one  single  chunk  of  galena,  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  getting  it  out.  Connor's  lead-mine 
after  all  had  turned  out  to  be  only  a  "  pocket 
edition." 

Tom's  disappointment  was  naturally  extreme, 
but,  as  usual,  his  low  spirits  were  only  momen- 
tary. We  had  hardly  climbed  up  out  of  the  hole 
again  when  he  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho !  "  he  went,  slapping  his  leg. 
"  What  will  Yetmore  say  ?  I'm  sorry,  Phil, 
that  I  couldn't  keep  my  promise  to  your  father, 
but  I'll  own  up  that  as  far  as  Yetmore  is  con- 
cerned I'm  rather  glad.  I  don't  like  the  Hon- 
orable Simon,  and  that's  a  fact.  What's  he  do- 
ing down  at  the  cabin  all  this  time,  I  wonder. 
Come !  Let's  gather  up  the  tools  and  go  down 
there  :  there's  nothing  more  to  be  done  here." 

On  arriving  at  the  cabin,  Yetmore's  non-ap- 
pearance was  at  once  explained.  Fastened  to 
the  table  with  a  fork  was  a  piece  of  paper,  upon 
which  was  written  in  pencil,  "  Gone  to  look  for 
the  horses." 

Of  course,  Joe   and    I  at  once   ran   over   to 


52         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  stable.  It  was  empty ;  all  three  of  the 
horses  were  gone. 

"  Queer,"  remarked  Joe.  "  I  feel  sure  I  tied 
mine  securely,  but  you  see  halters  and  all  are 
gone." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  And  I  should  have  relied 
upon  our  ponies'  staying  even  if  the}^  had  not 
been  tied  up  ;  you  know  what  good  camp  horses 
they  are.  Let's  go  out  and  see  which  way  they 
went." 

We  made  a  cast  all  round  the  stable,  and 
presently  Joe  called  out,  "  Here  they  are,  all 
three  of  them."  I  thought  he  had  found  the 
horses,  but  it  was  only  their  tracks  he  had  dis- 
covered, which  with  much  difficulty  we  followed 
over  the  stony  ground,  until,  after  half  an  hour 
of  careful  trailing,  they  led  us  to  the  dusty  road 
some  distance  below  camp,  where  they  were 
plainly  visible. 

"  Our  ponies  have  followed  Yetmore's  horse," 
said  Joe,  after  a  brief  inspection.  "  Do  you  see, 
Phil,  they  tread  in  his  tracks  all  the  time  ?  " 

For  the  tracks  left  by  our  own  ponies  were 
easily  distinguishable  from  those  of  Yetmore's 
big  horse,  our  animals  being  unshod. 

*'  What  puzzles  me  though,  Joe,"  said  I,  "  is 


Yetmore's   Mistake  53 

that  there  are  no  marks  of  the  halter-ropes 
trailing  in  the  dust ;  and  yet  they  went  off 
with  their  halters." 

"  That's  true.  I  don't  understand  it.  And 
there's  another  thing,  Phil  :  Yetniore  hasn't  got 
on  their  trail  yet,  apparently  ;  see,  the  marks  of 
his  boots  don't  show  anywhere.  He  must  be 
wandering  in  the  woods  still." 

''  I  suppose  so.  Well,  let  us  go  on  and  see  if 
they  haven't  stopped  to  feed  somewhere." 

We  went  on  for  half  a  mile  when  we  came  to 
a  spot  where  the  tracks  puzzled  us  still  more. 
For  the  first  time  a  man's  footmarks  appeared. 
That  they  were  Yetmore's  I  knew,  for  I  had 
noticed  the  pattern  of  the  nails  in  the  soles  of  his 
boots  as  he  had  sat  with  his  feet  resting  on  a 
chair  the  night  before.  But  where  had  he 
dropped  from  so  suddenly  ?  We  could  find  no 
tracks  on  either  side  of  the  road — though  cer- 
tainly the  ground  was  stony  and  would  not  take 
an  impression  easily — yet  here  they  were  all  at 
once  right  on  top  of  the  horses'  hoof-prints. 

Moreover,  his  appearance  seemed  to  have  been 
the  signal  for  a  new  arrangement  in  the  position 
of  the  horses,  for  our  ponies  had  here  taken  the 
lead,  while  Yetmore's  horse  came  treading  in 


54         The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

their  tracks.  Moreover,  again,  twenty  yards 
farther  on,  the  horses  had  all  broken  into  a 
gallop.     What  did  it  mean  ? 

**  Well,  this  is  a  puzzler !  "  exclaimed  Joe, 
taking  off  his  hat  and  rumpling  his  hair,  as  his 
habit  was  in  such  circumstances.  "  How  do  you 
figure  it  out,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  I.  "  Til  tell  you  what  I  think. 
Yetmore  has  caught  sight  of  the  horses  strolling 
down  the  road  and  has  followed  them,  keeping 
away  from  the  road  himself  for  fear  they  should 
see  him  and  take  alarm.  Dodging  through  the 
scrub-oak  and  cutting  across  corners,  he  has 
come  near  enough  to  them  to  speak  to  his  own 
horse ;  the  horse  has  stopped  and  Yetmore  has 
caught  him.  That  was  where  his  tracks  first 
showed  in  the  road.  Then  he  has  jumped  upon 
his  horse  and  galloped  after  our  ponies,  which 
appear  to  have  bolted." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable,"  Joe  assented  ;  "  and 
in  that  case  he'll  head  them  and  drive  them 
back  ;  so  we  may  as  well  walk  up  to  the  cabin 
again  and  wait  for  him." 

To  this  I  agreed,  and  we  therefore  turned 
round  and  retraced  our  steps. 

"  There's  only  one   thing  about   this  that  I 


Yetmore's  Mistake  ^^ 

can't  understand,"  remarked  Joe,  as  we  trudged 
up  the  hill,  ''  and  that  is  about  the  halters — 
why  they  leave  no  trail.     That  does  beat  me." 

"  Yes,  that  is  certainly  a  queer  thing  ;  unless 
they  managed  to  scrape  them  off  against  the 
trees  before  they  took  to  the  road.  In  that  case, 
though,  we  ought  to  have  found  them  ;  and  any- 
how it  is  hard  to  believe  that  all  three  horses 
should  have  done  the  same  thing." 

We  found  Tom  very  busy  packing  up  when 
we  reached  the  cabin,  and  on  our  telling  him 
the  result  of  our  horse-hunt  he  merely  nodded, 
saying,  "  Well,  they'll  be  back  soon,  I  suppose, 
and  then  I'll  ride  down  with  you." 

"  Why,  are  you  going  to  quit,  Tom  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Your  father  limited  me 
to  one  more  hole,  you  remember,  and  if  I  know 
him  he'll  stick  to  it ;  and  as  to  working  any 
longer  for  Yetmore,  no  thank  you ;  I've  had 
enough  of  it." 

So  saying,  Tom,  who  had  already  cleaned  and 
put  away  the  tools,  began  tumbling  his  scanty 
wardrobe  into  a  gunny-sack,  and  this  being  done, 
he  turned  to  us  and  said  : 

"  I've  got  a  pony  out  at  pasture  about  a  mile 
up  the  valley.     I'll  go  and  bring  him  down ; 


56         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

and  while  I'm  gone  you  might  as  well  pitch  in 
and  get  dinner  ready.  You  needn't  provide  for 
Sandy  Yates  :  he's  gone  off  already  to  see  if  he 
can  get  a  job  up  at  the  Samson." 

Sandy  Yates  was  the  helper. 

In  an  hoar  or  less  Tom  was  back  and  we  were 
seated  at  dinner,  without  Yetmore,  who  had  not 
yet  turned  up,  when  the  conversation  naturally 
fell  upon  the  subject  of  the  runaway  horses. 
We  related  to  Tom  how  we  had  trailed  them 
through  the  woods  down  to  the  road,  told  him 
of  the  sudden  appearance  of  Yetmore's  tracks, 
and  how  the  horses  had  then  set  off  at  a  run, 
followed  by  Yetmore. 

"  But  the  thing  I  can?io^  understand,"  said 
Joe,  harking  back  to  the  old  subject,  **  is  why 
the  halter-ropes  don't  show  in  the  dust." 

''  Don't  they  ? "  exclaimed  Tom,  suddenly 
sitting  bolt  upright  and  clapping  his  knife  and 
fork  down  upon  the  table.  "  Don't  they  ?  Just 
3'ou  wait  a  minute." 

With  that  he  jumped  up,  strode  out  of  the 
cabin,  and  went  straight  across  to  the  stable.  In 
two  minutes  he  was  back  again,  and  standing  in 
the  doorway,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he 
said  : 


Yetmore's  Mistake  ^y 

"  Boys,  I've  got  another  surprise  for  you : 
Yetmore's  saddle's  gone  !  " 

"  His  saddle  gone  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Is  that 
why  you  went  to  the  stable  ?  Did  you  expect 
to  find  it  gone  ?  " 

''That's just  what  I  did." 

"  You  did  !     Why  ?  " 

Without  replying  directly,  Tom  came  in,  sat 
down,  and  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  table,  said, 
with  a  quiet  chuckle,  the  meaning  of  which  we 
could  not  understand  : 

"  Should  you  like  to  know,  boys,  what  Yet- 
more  did  when  he  came  down  for  his  tobacco 
this  morning?  He  went  to  the  stable,  saddled 
his  horse,  untied  your  two  ponies  and  led  them 
out.  Then  he  mounted  his  horse  and  taking 
the  halter-ropes  in  his  hand  he  led  your  ponies 
by  a  roundabout  way  through  the  woods  down 
to  the  road.  After  leading  them  at  a  walk  along 
the  road  for  half  a  mile  he  dismounted — that 
was  where  his  tracks  showed — and  either  took 
off  the  halters  and  threw  them  away,  or  what 
is  more  likely,  tied  them  up  around  the  ponies' 
necks  so  that  the}'  shouldn't  step  on  them. 
Then  he  mounted  again  and  went  off  at  a  gallop, 
driving  your  ponies  ahead  of  him." 


58         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

As  Tom  concluded,  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  bubbling  with  suppressed  merriment, 
until  the  sight  of  our  round-eyed  wonder  was 
too  much  for  him  and  he  burst  into  uproarious 
laughter,  which  was  so  infectious  that  we  could 
not  help  joining  in,  though  the  cause  of  it  was  a 
perfect  mystery  to  us  both. 

At  length,  when  he  had  laughed  himself  out, 
he  leaned  forward  again,  and  rubbing  the  tears 
out  of  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  he 
said  : 

"  Can't  you  guess,  boys,  why  Yetmore  has 
gone  off  with  your  horses  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head.  "  No,"  said  I,  ''  unless  he 
wants  to  steal  them,  and  he'd  hardly  do  that,  I 
suppose." 

"  No ;  anyhow  not  in  such  a  bare-faced  way 
as  that.  What  he's  after  is  to  make  you  boys 
walk  home." 

"  Make  us  walk  home  !  "  cried  Joe.  "  What 
should  he  want  to  do  that  for  ?  " 

Tom  grinned,  and  in  reply,  said  :  "  Yetmore 
thought  that  as  soon  as  we  uncovered  that  fine 
three-foot  vein  of  galena  you  would  be  for  get- 
ting your  ponies  and  galloping  off  home  to  tell 
Mr.    Crawford   of  the   great   strike,  and   as  he 


Yetmore's  Mistake  59 

wanted  to  get  there  first  he  stole  your  ponies 
— temporarily — to  make  sure  of  doing  it." 

"  But  why  should  he  want  to  get  there  first  ?  " 
I  asked.  "  You  are  talking  in  riddles,  Tom,  and 
we  haven't  the  key." 

"  No,  I  know  you  haven't.  You  don't  know 
Yetmore.  I  do.  He's  gone  down  to  buy  your 
father's  share  in  the  claim  for  next-to-nothing 
before  he  hears  of  the  strike  !  " 

The  whole  thing  was  plain  and  clear  now  ; 
and  the  hilarity  of  our  friend,  Connor,  was  ex- 
plained. He  had  no  liking  for  Yetmore,  as  we 
have  seen,  and  it  delighted  him  immeasurably 
to  think  of  that  too  astute  gentleman  rushing 
off"  to  buy  my  father's  share  of  a  valuable  mine, 
and,  if  he  succeeded,  finding  himself  the  owner 
of  a  worthless  boulder  instead. 

For  myself,  I  was  much  puzzled  how  to  act. 
Naturally,  I  felt  pretty  indignant  at  Yetmore's 
action,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  if,  in  trying  to 
cheat  my  father,  he  should  only  succeed  in 
cheating  himself,  it  would  be  no  more  than  just 
that  he  should  be  allowed  to  do  so.  But  at  the 
same  time  I  thought  that  my  father  ought  to  be 
informed  of  the  state  of  the  case  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible— he,  not  I,  was  the  one  to  judge — and  so, 


6o         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

turning  to  Connor,  I  asked  him  to  lend  me  his 
pony  so  that  I  might  set  off  at  once. 

"  What !  And  spoil  the  deal  !  "  cried  Connor  ; 
and  at  first  he  was  disposed  to  refuse.  But  on 
consideration,  he  added  :  "  Well,  perhaps  you're 
right.  Your  father's  an  honest  man,  if  ever 
there  was  one,  and  I  doubt  if  he'd  let  even  a 
man  like  Yetmore  cheat  himself  if  he  could  help 
it ;  and  so  I  suppose  you  must  go  and  tell  him 
the  particulars  as  soon  as  you  can.  All  I  hope 
is  that  he  will  have  made  his  deal  before  you 
get  there.     Yes,  you  can  take  the  pony." 

But  it  was  not  necessary  to  borrow  Connor's 
steed  after  all,  for  when  we  stepped  outside  the 
cabin,  there  were  our  own  ponies  coming  up  the 
road.  The  halters  were  fastened  up  round  their 
necks,  and  they  showed  evident  signs  of  having 
been  run  hard  some  time  during  the  morning. 
Presumably  Yetmore  had  abandoned  them  some- 
where on  the  road  and  they  had  walked  leisurely 
back. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  Connor,  "  we  may  as  well 
all  start  together  now  ;  but  as  your  ponies  have 
had  a  good  morning's  work  already,  we  can't  ex- 
pect to  make  the  whole  distance  this  evening. 
We'll    stop  over  night  at  Thornburg's,  twenty 


Yetmore's   Mistake  6i 

miles  down,  and  go  on  again  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

This  we  did,  and  by  ten  o'clock  we  reached 
home,  where  the  first  person  we  encountered  was 
m}''  father. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  he  cried,  as  the  miner  slipped 
down  from  his  horse.  "  So  you  made  a  strike, 
did  you?" 

At  this  Tom  opened  his  eyes  pretty  widely. 
"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  my  father  replied,  smiling, 
''  but  I  guessed.     Does  it  amount  to  much  ?  " 

'*  Well,  no,  I  can't  say  it  does,"  Tom  replied, 
as  he  covered  his  mouth  with  his  hand  to  hide 
the  grin  which  would  come  to  the  surface. 
"Yetmore's  been  here,  I  suppose?"  he  added, 
inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  he  has,"  answered  my  father,  surprised 
in  his  turn.     "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  thought  he  might  have,  that's  all." 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  yesterday  afternoon.  I 
sold  him  my  one-third  share." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  asked  Tom,  eagerly.  "  I  hope 
you  got  a  good  price." 

"  Yes,  I  made  a  very  satisfactory  bargain.  I 
traded  my  share  for  his  thirty  acres  here,  so  that 


62         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

now,  at  last,  I  own  the  whole  of  Crawford's 
Basm,  I'm  glad  to  say." 

"  Bully  !  "  cried  Tom,  clapping  his  hands  to- 
gether with  a  report  which  made  his  pony  shy. 
"  That's  great !  Tell  us  about  it,  Mr.  Craw- 
ford." 

"  Why,  Yet  more  rode  in  yesterday  afternoon, 
as  I  told  you,  on  his  way  to  town — he  said.  But 
I  rather  suspected  the  truth  of  his  statement. 
He  had  come  in  a  desperate  hurry,  for  his  horse 
was  in  a  lather,  and  if  he  was  in  such  haste  to 
get  to  town,  why  did  he  waste  time  talking  to 
me,  as  he  did  for  twenty  minutes  ?  But  when, 
just  as  he  was  starting  off  again,  he  turned  back 
and  asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  sell  my  share  in  the 
drill  and  claim,  I  knew  that  that  was  what  he 
had  come  about,  and  I  had  a  strong  suspicion 
that  he  had  heard  of  a  strike  of  some  sort 
and  was  trying  to  get  the  better  of  me.  So 
when  he  asked  what  I  wanted  for  my  share,  I 
said  I  would  take  his  thirty  acres,  and  in  spite 
of  his  protestations  that  I  was  asking  far  too 
much,  I  stuck  to  it.  The  final  result  was  that  I 
rode  on  with  him  to  town,  where  we  exchanged 
deeds  and  the  bargain  was  completed." 

"  That's  great !  "  exclaimed  Connor  once  more, 


Yetmore's   Mistake  63 

rubbing  his  hands.  "  And  now  I'll  tell  you  our 
part  of  the  story." 

When  he  had  finished,  my  father  stood  think- 
ing for  a  minute,  and  then  said  :  "  Well,  the 
deal  will  have  to  stand.  Yetmore  believed  we 
had  a  three-foot  vein  of  galena,  and  it  is  per- 
fectly evident  that  he  meant  to  get  my  share  out 
of  me  at  a  trifling  price  before  I  was  aware  of  its 
value.  It  was  a  shabby  trick.  If  he  had  dealt 
squarely  with  me,  I  would  have  offered  to  give 
him  back  his  deed,  but,  as  it  is,  I  shan't.  The 
deal  will  have  to  stand.'' 

Thus  it  was  that  my  father  became  sole  owner 
of  Crawford's  Basin. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Lost  In  The  Clouds 

THE  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  little  all  in  the 
core-boring  venture  did  not  trouble  Tom 
Connor  in  the  least ;  the  money  was  gone,  and 
as  worrying  about  it  would  not  bring  it  back, 
Tom  decided  not  to  worry.  The  same  thing  had 
happened  to  him  many  a  time  before,  for  his 
system  of  life  was  to  work  in  the  mines  until  he 
had  accumulated  a  respectable  sum,  and  then  go 
off  prospecting  till  such  time  as  the  imminence 
of  starvation  drove  him  back  again  to  regular 
work. 

It  was  so  in  this  case  ;  and  being  known  all 
over  the  district  as  a  skilful  miner,  his  specialty 
being  timber-work,  he  very  soon  got  a  good  job 
on  the  Pelican  as  boss  timberman  on  a  section 
of  that  important  mine. 

One  effect  of  Tom's  getting  work  on  the  Peli- 
can was  that  he  secured  for  Joe  and  me  an  order 
for  lagging — small  poles  used  in  the  mines  to 
hold  up  the  ore  and  waste — and  our  potato-crop 
being  gathered  and  marketed,  my  father  gave  us 
64 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  65 

permission  to  go  off  and  earn  some  extra  money 
for  ourselves  by  filling  the  order  which  Tom's 
kindly  thoughtfulness  had  secured  for  us. 

The  place  we  had  chosen  as  the  scene  of  our 
operations  was  on  the  northern  slope  of  Elkhorn 
Mountain,  which  lay  next  south  of  Mount  Lin- 
coln, and  one  bright  morning  in  the  late  fall  Joe 
and  I  packed  our  bedding  and  provisions  into 
a  wagon  borrowed  from  my  father  and  set 
out. 

We  had  chosen  this  spot,  after  making  a  pre- 
liminary survey  for  the  purpose,  partl}^  because 
the  growth  of  timber  was — as  it  nearly  always 
is — much  thicker  on  the  northern  slopes  of  Elk- 
horn  than  on  the  south  side  of  Lincoln,  and  also 
because,  being  a  rather  long  haul,  it  had  not  yet 
been  encroached  upon  by  the  timber-cutters  of 
Sulphide. 

On  a  little  branch  creek  of  the  stream  which 
ran  through  Sulphide  we  selected  a  favorable 
spot  and  went  to  work.  It  was  rather  high  up, 
and  the  country  being  steep  and  rocky,  we  had 
to  make  our  camp  about  a  mile  below  our  work- 
ing-ground, snaking  out  the  poles  as  we  cut  them. 
This,  of  course,  was  a  rather  slow  process,  but  it 
had  its  compensation  in  the  fact  that  from  the  foot 


66        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

of  the  mountain  nearly  all  the  way  to  Sulphide 
our  course  lay  across  the  Second  Mesa,  which  was 
fairly  smooth  going,  and  as  it  was  down  hill  for 
the  whole  distance  we  could  haul  a  very  big  load 
when  we  did  start.  In  due  time  we  filled  our 
contract  and  received  our  pay,  after  which,  by 
advice  of  Tom  Connor,  we  branched  out  on  an- 
other line  of  the  same  business. 

Being  unable  to  get  a  second  contract,  and  be- 
ing, in  fact,  afraid  to  take  one  if  we  could  get  it 
on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  season — for  the 
snow  might  come  at  any  moment  and  prevent  our 
carrying  it  out — we  consulted  Tom,  who  sug- 
gested that  we  put  in  the  rest  of  the  fine  weather 
cutting  big  timbers,  hauling  them  to  town,  and 
storing  them  on  a  vacant  lot,  or,  what  would  be 
better,  in  somebody's  back  yard. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  though  the  Pelican  and  most 
of  the  other  mines  have  their  supplies  for  the 
winter  on  hand  or  contracted  for,  it  is  always 
likely  they  may  want  a  few  more  stuUs  or 
other  big  timbers  than  they  think.  I'll  keep 
you  in  mind,  and  if  I  hear  of  any  such  I'll  try 
and  make  a  deal  for  you,  either  for  the  whole 
stick  or  cut  in  lengths  to  order." 

As  this  seemed  like  good  sense  to  us,  we  at 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  67 

once  went  off  to  find  a  storage  place,  a  quest  in 
which  we  were  successful  at  the  first  attempt. 

Among  my  father's  customers  was  the  widow 
Appleby,  who  conducted  a  small  grocery  store 
on  a  side  street  in  town.  She  was  accustomed 
to  buy  her  potatoes  from  us,  and  my  father, 
knowing  that  she  had  a  hard  struggle  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  had  always  been  very  easy  with 
her  in  the  matter  of  payment,  giving  her  all  the 
time  she  needed. 

This  act  of  consideration  had  its  effect,  for, 
when  we  went  to  her  and  suggested  that  she  rent 
us  her  back  yard  for  storage  purposes,  she  readily 
assented,  and  not  only  refused  to  take  any  rent, 
but  gave  us  as  well  the  use  of  an  old  stable  which 
stood  empty  on  the  back  of  her  lot. 

This  was  very  convenient  for  us,  for  though 
a  twenty-foot  pole,  measuring  twelve  inches  at 
the  butt  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  that  a  thief 
would  pick  up  and  run  away  with,  it  was  less 
likely  that  he  would  attempt  it  from  an  en- 
closed back  yard  than  if  the  poles  were  stored  in 
an  open  lot.  Besides  this,  a  stable  rent-free  for 
our  mules,  and  a  loft  above  it  rent-free  for  our- 
selves to  sleep  in  was  a  great  accommoda- 
tion. 


68         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Returning  to  the  Elkhorn,  therefore,  we  went 
to  work  in  a  new  place,  a  place  where  some  time 
previously  a  fire  had  swept  through  a  strip  of 
the  woods,  killing  the  trees,  but  leaving  them 
standing,  stark  and  bare,  but  still  sound  as  nuts — 
just  the  thing  we  wanted.  Our  chief  difficulty 
this  time  was  in  getting  the  felled  timbers  out 
from  amidst  their  fellows — for  the  dead  trees 
were  very  thick  and  the  mountain-side  very 
steep — but  by  taking  great  care  we  accomplished 
this  without  accident.  The  loading  of  these  big 
'*  sticks  "  would  have  been  an  awkward  task,  too, 
had  we  not  fortunately  found  a  cut  bank  along- 
side of  which  we  ran  our  wagon,  and  having 
snaked  the  logs  into  place  upon  the  bank  we  skid- 
ded them  across  the  gap  into  the  wagon  without 
much  difficulty. 

We  had  made  three  loads,  and  the  fine  weather 
still  holding,  we  had  gone  back  for  a  fourth  and 
last  one,  when,  having  got  our  logs  in  place  on 
the  cut  bank  all  ready  to  load,  Joe  and  I,  after 
due  consultation,  decided  that  we  would  take  a 
day  off  and  climb  up  to  the  saddle  which  con- 
nected the  two  mountains.  We  had  never  been 
up  there  before,  and  we  were  curious  to  see  what 
the  country  was  like  on  the  other  side. 


Lost  in   the  Clouds  69 

Knowing  that  it  would  be  a  long  and  hard 
climb,  we  started  about  sunrise,  taking  a  rifle 
with  us ;  not  that  we  expected  to  use  it,  but  be- 
cause it  is  not  good  to  be  entirely  defenseless  in 
those  wild,  out-of-the-way  places.  Following  at 
first  our  little  creek,  we  went  on  up  and  up,  taking 
it  slowly,  until  presently  the  pines  began  to  thin 
out,  the  weather-beaten  trees,  gnarled,  twisted 
and  stunted,  becoming  few  and  far  between, 
and  pretty  soon  we  left  even  these  behind  and 
emerged  upon  the  bare  rocks  above  timber-line. 
Here,  too,  we  left  behind  our  little  creek. 

For  another  thousand  feet  we  scrambled  up 
the  rocks,  clambering  over  great  boulders,  pick- 
ing our  way  along  the  edges  of  little  precipices, 
until  at  last  we  stood  upon  the  summit  of  the 
saddle. 

To  right  and  left  were  the  two  great  peaks, 
still  three  thousand  feet  above  us,  but  westward 
the  view  was  clear.  As  far  as  we  could  see — and 
that,  I  expect,  was  near  two  hundred  miles — 
were  ranges  and  masses  of  mountains,  some  of 
them  already  capped  with  snow,  a  magnificent 
sight. 

"  That  is  fine  ! "  cried  Joe,  enthusiastically. 
"  It's  well  worth   the  trouble  of  the  climb.     I 


70         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

only  wish  we  had  a  map  so  that  we  could  tell 
which  range  is  which." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  great  sight,"  said  I.  "  And  the 
view  eastward  is  about  as  fine,  I  think.  Look  ! 
That  cloud  of  smoke,  due  east  about  ten  miles 
away,  comes  from  the  smelters  of  San  Remo,  and 
that  other  smoke  a  little  to  the  left  of  it  is  where 
the  coal-mines  are.  There's  the  ranch,  too,  that 
green  spot  in  the  mesa ;  you  wouldn't  think  it 
was  nearly  a  mile  square,  would  you?  " 

"  That's  Sulphide  down  there,  of  course,"  re- 
marked Joe,  pointing  off  towards  the  right. 
"  But  what  are  those  other,  smaller,  clouds  of 
smoke?" 

''  Those  are  three  other  little  mining-camps,  all 
tributary  to  the  smelters  at  San  Remo,  and  all 
producing  refractory  ores  like  the  mines  of  Sul- 
phide. My  !  Joe  !  "  I  exclaimed,  as  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  Tom  Connor  and  his  late  core-boring 
failure.  "  What  a  great  thing  a  good  vein  of 
lead  ore  would  be  !     Better  than  a  gold  mine  !  " 

"  I  expect  it  would.  Poor  old  Tom  !  He  bears 
his  disappointment  pretty  well,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  He  certainly  does.  He  says,  noAV,  that  he's 
going  to  stick  to  straightforward  mining  and 
leave  prospecting  alone  ;  but  he's  said  that  every 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  71 

year  for  the  past  ten  years  at  least,  and  if  there's 
anything  certain  about  Tom  it  is  that  when  spring 
comes  and  he  finds  himself  once  more  with 
money  in  his  pocket,  he'll  be  off  again  hunting 
for  his  lead-mine." 

"  Sure  to.  Well,  Phil,  let's  sit  down  some- 
where and  eat  our  lunch.  We  mustn't  stay  here 
too  long." 

"  All  right.  Here's  a  good  place  behind  this 
big  rock.  It  will  shelter  us  from  the  east  wind, 
which  has  a  decided  edge  to  it  up  here." 

For  half  an  hour  we  sat  comfortably  in  the 
sun  eating  our  lunch,  all  around  us  space  and 
silence,  when  Joe,  rising  to  his  feet,  gave  vent  to 
a  soft  whistle. 

''  Phil,"  said  he,  "  we  must  be  off.  No  time 
to  waste.     Look  eastward." 

I  jumped  up.  A  wonderful  change  had  taken 
place.  The  view  of  the  plains  was  completely 
cut  off  by  masses  of  soft  cloud,  which,  coming 
from  the  east,  struck  the  mountain-side  about 
two  thousand  feet  below  us  and  were  swiftly  and 
softly  drifting  up  to  where  we  stood. 

"  Yes,  we  must  be  off,"  said  I.  "  It  won't  do 
to  be  caught  up  here  in  the  clouds  :  it  would  be 
dangerous  getting  down  over  the  rocks.     And 


72        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

besides  that,  it  might  turn  cold  and  come  on  to 
snow.     Let  us  be  off  at  once." 

It  was  fortunate  we  did  so,  for,  though  we 
traveled  as  fast  as  we  dared,  the  cloud,  coming 
at  first  in  thin  whisps  and  then  in  dense  masses, 
enveloped  us  before  we  reached  timber-line,  and 
the  difiiculty  we  experienced  in  covering  the 
small  intervening  space  showed  us  how  risky  it 
would  have  been  had  the  cloud  caught  us  while 
we  were  still  on  the  summit  of  the  ridge. 

As  it  was,  we  lost  our  bearings  immediately, 
for  the  chilly  mist  filled  all  the  spaces  between 
the  trees,  so  that  we  could  not  see  more  than 
twenty  yards  in  any  direction.  As  to  our  proper 
course,  we  could  tell  nothing  about  it,  so  that  the 
only  thing  left  for  us  to  do  was  to  keep  on  going 
down  hill.  We  expected  every  moment  to  see 
or  hear  our  little  creek,  but  we  must  have  missed 
it  somehow,  for,  though  we  ought  to  have  reached 
it  long  before,  we  had  been  picking  our  way 
over  loose  rocks  and  fallen  trees  for  two  hours 
before  we  came  upon  a  stream — whether  the 
right  or  the  wrong  one  we  could  not  tell.  Right 
or  wrong,  however,  we  were  glad  to  see  it,  for  by 
following  it  we  should  sooner  or  later  reach  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  and  get  below  the  cloud. 


Lost  in  the  Clouds 


73 


But  to  follow  it  was  by  no  means  easy  :  the 
country  was  so  unexpectedly  rough — a  fact 
which  convinced  us  that  we  had  struck  the 
wrong  creek.  As  we  progressed,  we  presently 
found  ourselves  upon  the  edge  of  a  little  canon 
which,  being  too  steep  to  descend,  obliged  us  to 
diverge  to  the  left,  and  not  only  so,  but  com- 
pelled us  to  go  up  hill  to  get  around  it,  which 
did  not  suit  us  at  all. 

After  a  time,  however,  we  began  to  go  down 
once  more,  but  though  we  kept  edging  to  the 
right  we  could  not  find  our  creek  again.  The 
fog,  too,  had  become  more  dense  than  ever,  and 
whether  our  faces  were  turned  north,  south  or 
east  we  had  no  idea. 

We  were  going  on  side  by  side,  when  suddenly 
we  were  astonished  to  hear  a  dog  bark,  some- 
where close  by  ;  but  though  we  shouted  and 
whistled  there  was  no  reply. 

"  It  must  be  a  prospector's  dog,"  said  Joe, 
"  and  the  man  himself  must  be  underground 
and  can't  hear  us." 

"  Perhaps  that's  it,"  I  replied.  ''  Well,  let's 
take  the  direction  of  the  sound — if  we  can.  It 
seemed  to  me  to  be  that  way,"  pointing  with  my 
hand.     "  I  wish  the  dog  would  bark  again." 


74        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

The  dog,  however,  did  not  bark  again,  but 
instead  there  happened  another  surprising  thing. 
We  were  walking  near  together,  carefully  pick- 
ing our  way,  when  suddenly  a  big  raven,  com- 
ing from  we  knew  not  where,  flew  between  us, 
so  close  that  we  felt  the  flap  of  his  wings  and 
heard  their  soft  fluff-fluff  in  the  moisture-laden 
air,  and  disappeared  again  into  the  fog  before  us 
with  a  single  croak. 

It  was  rather  startling,  but  beyond  that  we 
thought  nothing  of  it,  and  on  we  w^ent  again, 
until  Joe  stopped  short,  exclaiming  : 

"  Phil,  I  smell  smoke  !  " 

I  stopped,  too,  and  gave  a  sniff.  "  So  do  I," 
I  said  ;  "  and  there's  something  queer  about  it. 
It  isn't  plain  wood-smoke.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sulphur,"  replied  Joe. 

"  Sulphur  !  So  it  is.  What  can  any  one  be 
burning  sulphur  up  here  for?  Anyhow,  sul- 
phur or  no  sulphur,  some  one  must  have  lighted 
the  fire,  so  let  us  follow  the  smoke." 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  we  perceived  the 
light  of  a  fire  glowing  redly  through  the  fog, 
and  hurried  on,  expecting  to  find  some  man 
beside  it. 

But  not  only  was  there  nobody  about,  which 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  75 

was  surprising  enough,  hut  the  fire  itself 
was  something  to  arouse  our  curiosity.  Beneath 
a  large,  flat  stone,  supported  at  the  corners  by 
four  other  stones,  was  a  hot  bed  of  "  coals," 
while  upon  the  stone  itself  was  spread  a  thin 
layer  of  black  sand.  It  was  from  these  grains 
of  sand,  apparently,  that  the  smell  of  sulphur 
came ;  though  what  they  were  or  why  they 
should  be  there  we  could  not  guess. 

We  were  standing  there,  wondering,  when, 
suddenly,  close  behind  us,  the  dog  barked  again. 
Round  -we  whirled.  There  was  no  dog  there  ! 
Instead,  perched  upon  the  stump  of  a  dead  tree, 
sat  a  big  black  raven,  who  eyed  us  as  though 
enjoying  our  bewilderment.  Bewildered  we 
certainly  were,  and  still  more  so  when  the  bird, 
after  staring  us  out  of  countenance  for  a  few 
seconds,  cocked  his  head  on  one  side  and  said  in 
a  hoarse  voice : 

"  Gim'me  a  chew  of  tobacco  !  " 

And  then,  throwing  back  his  head,  he  pro- 
duced such  a  perfect  imitation  of  the  howl  of 
a  coyote,  that  a  real  coyote,  somewhere  up  on 
the  mountain,  howled  in  reply. 

All  this — the  talking  raven,  the  mysterious 
fire,  the  encompassing  shroud  of  fog — made  us 


76         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

wonder  whether  we  were  awake  or  asleep,  when 
we  were  still  more  startled  by  a  voice  behind  us 
saying,  genially  : 

"  Good-evening,  boys." 

Round  we  whirled  once  more,  to  find  standing 
beside  us  a  man,  a  tall,  bony,  bearded  man,  about 
fifty  years  old,  carrying  in  his  hand  a  long,  old- 
fashioned  muzzle-loading  rifle.  He  was  dressed 
all  in  buckskin,  while  the  moccasins  on  his  feet 
explained  how  it  was  he  had  been  able  to  slip 
up  on  us  so  silently. 

Naturally,  we  were  somewhat  taken  aback  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  this  wild-looking 
specimen  of  humanity,  when,  thinking  that  he 
had  alarmed  us,  perhaps,  the  man  asked,  pleas- 
antly :     '*  Lost,  boys  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  reassured  by  his  kindly 
manner.  "  We  have  been  up  to  the  saddle  and 
got  caught  in  the  clouds.  We  don't  know  where 
we  are.  We  are  trying  to  get  back  to  our  camp 
on  a  branch  of  Sulphide  creek." 

"  Ah  !  You  are  the  two  boys  I've  seen  cutting 
timbers  down  there,  are  you  ?  Well,  your  troub- 
les are  over :  I  can  put  you  on  the  road  to  your 
camp  in  an  hour  or  so ;  I  know  every  foot  of 
these  mountains." 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  77 

"  But  come  in,"  he  continued.  "  I  suppose 
you  are  hungry,  and  a  little  something  to  eat 
won't  be  amiss." 

When  the  man  said, "  Come  in,"  we  naturally 
glanced  about  us  to  see  where  his  house  was,  but 
none  being  visible  we  concluded  it  must  be  some 
distance  oft'  in  the  mist.  In  this,  however,  we 
were  mistaken.  The  side  of  the  mountain  just 
here  was  covered  with  enormous  rocks — a  whole 
cliff  must  have  tumbled  down  at  once — and  be- 
tween two  of  these  our  guide  led  the  way.  In  a 
few  steps  the  passage  widened  out,  when  we  saw 
before  us,  neatly  fitted  in  between  three  of  these 
immense  blocks  of  stone — one  on  either  side  and 
one  behind — a  little  log  cabin,  with  chimney, 
door  and  window  all  complete;  while  just  to 
one  side  was  another,  a  smaller  one,  which  was 
doubtless  a  storehouse.  Past  his  front  door  ran 
a  small  stream  of  water  which  evidently  fell 
from  a  cliff  near  by,  for,  though  we  could  not 
see  the  waterfall  we  could  hear  it  plainly 
enough. 

"  Well !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Whoever  would 
have  thought  there  was  a  house  in  here?  " 

"  No  one,  I  expect,"  replied  the  man.  "  At 
any  rate,  with  one  exception,  you  are  the  first 


78         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

strangers  to  cross  the  threshold ;  and  yet  I  have 
lived  here  a  good  many  years,  too.  Come  in 
and  make  yourselves  at  home." 

Though  we  wondered  greatly  who  our  host 
could  be  and  were  burning  to  ask  him  his  name, 
there  was  something  in  his  manner  which 
warned  us  to  hold  our  tongues.  But  whatever 
his  name  might  be,  there  was  little  doubt  about 
his  occupation.  He  was  evidently  a  mighty 
hunter,  for,  covering  the  walls,  the  floor  and  his 
sleeping-place  were  skins  innumerable,  including 
foxes,  wolves  and  bears,  some  of  the  last-named 
being  of  remarkable  size  ;  while  one  magnificent 
elk-head  and  several  heads  of  mountain-sheep 
adorned  the  space  over  his  fireplace. 

Our  host  having  lighted  a  fire,  was  busying 
himself  preparing  a  simple  meal  for  us,  when 
there  came  a  gentle  cough  from  the  direction  of 
the  doorway,  and  there  on  the  threshold  stood 
the  raven  as  though  waiting  for  permission  to 
enter. 

The  man  turned,  and  seeing  the  bird  standing 
there  with  its  head  on  one  side,  said,  laughingly  : 
"Ah,  Sox,  is  that  3'ou?  Come  in,  old  fellow, 
and  be  introduced.  These  gentlemen  are  friends 
of  mine.     Say  '  Good-morning.'  " 


AH,    SOX,    IS    THAT    YOU?'' 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  79 

"  Good-morning,"  repeated  the  raven  ;  and 
having  thus  displayed  his  good  manners,  he 
half-opened  his  wings  and  danced  a  solemn  jig 
up  and  down  the  floor,  finally  throwing  back 
his  head  and  laughing  so  heartily  that  we  could 
not  help  joining  in. 

"  Clever  fellow,  isn't  he  ? "  said  the  man. 
"  His  proper  name  is  Socrates,  though  I  call  him 
Sox,  for  short.  He  is  supposed  to  be  getting  on 
for  a  hundred  years  old,  though  as  far  as  I  can 
see  he  is  just  as  young  as  he  was  when  I  first 
got  him,  twenty  years  ago.  Here," — handing 
us  each  a  piece  of  meat — "  give  him  these  and 
he  will  accept  you  as  friends  for  life." 

Whether  he  accepted  us  as  friends  remained 
to  be  seen,  but  he  certainly  accepted  our  offer- 
ings, bolting  each  piece  at  a  single  gulp ;  after 
which  he  hopped  up  on  to  a  peg  driven  into  the 
wall,  evidently  his  own  private  perch,  and  an- 
nounced in  a  self-satisfied  tone  :  "  First  in  war, 
first  in  peace,"  ending  up  with  a  modest  cough, 
as  though  he  would  have  us  believe  that  he  knew 
the  rest  well  enough  but  was  not  going  to  trouble 
us  with  any  such  threadbare  quotation. 

This  solemn  display  of  learning  set  us  laugh- 
ing   again,    upon    which    Socrates,    seemingly 


8o        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

offended,  sank  his  head  between  his  shoulders 
and  pretended  to  go  to  sleep  ;  though,  that  it 
was  only  pretense  was  evident,  for,  do  what  he 
would,  he  could  not  refrain  from  occasionally 
opening  one  eye  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Having  presently  finished  the  meal  provided 
for  us,  we  suggested  that  we  ought  to  be  moving 
on,  so,  bidding  adieu  to  Socrates,  and  receiving 
no  response  from  that  sulky  philosopher,  we 
followed  our  host  into  the  open. 

That  he  had  not  exaggerated  when  he  said  he 
knew  every  foot  of  these  mountains,  seemed  to 
be  borne  out  by  the  facts.  He  went  straight 
away,  regardless  of  the  fog,  up  hill  and  down, 
without  an  instant's  hesitation,  we  trotting  at 
his  heels,  until,  in  about  an  hour  we  found  our- 
selves once  more  below  the  clouds,  and  could 
see  not  far  away  our  two  mules  quietly  feed- 
ing. 

"  Now,"  said  our  guide,  "  I'll  leave  you.  If 
ever  you  come  my  way  again  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you ;  though  I  expect  it  would  puzzle  you 
to  find  my  dwelling  unless  you  should  come 
upon  it  by  accident.     Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  we  repeated,  "  and  many  thanks 
for  your  kindness.     If  we  can  do  anything  in 


Lost  in  the  Clouds  8i 

return  at  any  time  we  shall  be  glad  of  the  chance. 
We  live  in  Crawford's  Basin." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  "  said  our  friend.  "  You  are 
Mr.  Crawford's  boys,  then,  are  you?  Well, 
many  thanks.  I'll  remember.  And  now,  good- 
bye to  you." 

With  that,  this  strange  man  turned  round  and 
walked  up  into  the  clouds  again.  In  two  min- 
utes he  had  vanished. 

"  Well,  that  was  a  queer  adventure,"  remarked 
Joe.  "  I  wonder  who  he  is,  and  why  he  chooses 
to  live  all  by  himself  like  that." 

"  Yes.  It's  a  miserable  sort  of  existence  for 
such  a  man  ;  for  he  seems  like  a  sociable,  good- 
hearted  fellow.  It  isn't  every  one,  for  instance, 
who  would  walk  three  or  four  miles  over  these 
rough  mountains  just  to  help  a  couple  of  boys, 
whom  he  never  saw  before  and  may  never  see 
again.  I  wish  we  could  make  him  some  re- 
turn." 

"  Well,  perhaps  we  may,  some  day,"  Joe  re- 
plied. 

Whether  we  did  or  not  will  be  seen  later. 


CHAPTER  V 
What  We  Found  In  The  Pool 

THOUGH  we  got  back  to  camp  pretty  late, 
we  set  to  work  to  load  our  poles  at  once, 
fearing  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  fall  of  snow 
which  might  prevent  our  getting  them  to  town. 
This  turned  out  to  be  a  wise  precaution,  for  when 
we  started  in  the  morning  the  snow  was  already 
coming  down,  and  though  it  did  not  extend  as 
far  as  Sulphide,  the  mountains  were  covered  a 
foot  deep  before  night. 

This  fall  of  snow  proved  to  be  much  to  our 
advantage,  for  one  of  the  timber  contractors, 
fearing  he  might  not  be  able  to  fill  his  order, 
bought  our  "  sticks  "  from  us,  to  be  delivered, 
cut  into  certain  lengths,  at  the  Senator  mine. 

This  occupied  us  several  days,  when,  having 

delivered  our  last  load,  we  thanked  Mrs.  Appleby 

for  the  use  of  her  back  yard — the  only  payment 

she  would  accept — and  then  set  off  home,  where 

we  proudly  displayed  to  my  father  and  mother 

the  money  we  had  earned  and  related  how  we 
82 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool  83 

had  earned  it ;  including,  of  course,  a  descrip- 
tion of  our  meeting  with  the  wild  man  of  the 
woods, 

"  And  didn't  he  tell  you  who  he  was?  "  asked 
my  father,  when  we  had  finished. 

"  No,"  I  replied  ;  "we  were  afraid  to  ask  him, 
and  he  didn't  volunteer  any  information." 

"  And  you  didn't  guess  who  he  was  ?  " 

"  No.     Why  should  we  ?    Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  Peter  the  Hermit,  of  course.  I  should 
have  thought  the  presence  of  the  raven  would 
have  enlightened  you  :  he  is  always  described  as 
going  about  in  company  with  a  raven." 

"  So  he  is.  I'd  forgotten  that.  But,  on  the 
other  hand  he  is  always  described  also  as  being 
half  crazy,  and  certainly  there  was  no  sign  of 
such  a  thing  about  him  that  we  could  see.  Was 
there,  Joe?" 

"  No.  Nobody  could  have  acted  more  sensi- 
bly. Who  is  he,  Mr.  Crawford  ?  And  why  does 
he  live  all  by  himself  like  that?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  him  beyond  common 
report.  I  suppose  his  name  is  Peter — though  it 
may  not  be — and  because  he  chooses  to  lead  a 
secluded  life,  some  genius  has  dubbed  him 
'  Peter  the  Hermit ' ;  though  who  he  really  is, 


84         The   Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

or  why  he  lives  all  alone,  or  where  he  comes 
from,  I  can't  say.  Some  people  say  he  is  crazy, 
and  some  people  say  he  is  an  escaped  criminal — 
but  then  people  will  say  anything,  particularly 
when  they  know  nothing  about  it.  Judging 
from  the  reports  of  the  two  or  three  men  who 
have  met  him,  however,  he  appears  to  be  quite 
inoffensive,  and  evidently  he  is  a  friendly-dis- 
posed fellow  from  your  description  of  him.  If 
you  should  come  across  him  again  you  might 
invite  him  to  come  down  and  see  us.  I  don't 
suppose  he  will,  but  you  might  ask  him,  any- 
how." 

"  All  right,"  said  I.  "  We  will  if  we  get  the 
chance."     And  so  the  matter  ended. 

It  was  just  as  well  that  we  returned  to  the 
ranch  when  we  did,  for  we  found  plenty  of  work 
ready  to  our  hands,  the  first  thing  being  the 
hauling  of  fire-wood  for  the  year.  To  procure 
this,  it  was  not  necessary  for  us  to  go  to  the 
mountains :  our  supply  was  much  nearer  to 
hand.  The  whole  region  round  about  us  had 
been  at  some  remote  period  the  scene  of  vigorous 
volcanic  action.  Both  the  First  and  Second 
Mesas  were  formed  by  a  series  of  lava-flows 
which  had   come  down  from   Mount  Lincoln, 


What  We   Found   in  the   Pool  85 

and  ending  abruptly  about  eight  miles  from  the 
mountains,  had  built  up  the  cliff  which  bounded 
the  First  Mesa  on  its  eastern  side.  Then,  later, 
but  still  in  a  remote  age,  a  great  strip  of  this 
lava-bed,  a  mile  wide  and  ten  or  twelve  miles 
long,  north  and  south,  had  broken  away  and 
subsided  from  the  general  level,  forming  what 
the  geologists  call,  I  believe,  a  "  fault,"  thus 
causing  the  "  step-up "  to  the  Second  Mesa. 
The  Second  Mesa,  because  the  lava  had  been 
hotter  perhaps,  was  distinguished  from  the  lower 
level  by  the  presence  of  a  number  of  little  hills 
— "  bubbles,"  they  were  called,  locally,  and  solidi- 
fied bubbles  of  hot  lava  perhaps  they  were. 
They  were  all  sorts  of  sizes,  from  fifty  to  four 
hundred  feet  high  and  from  a  hundred  yards  to 
half  a  mile  in  diameter.  Viewed  from  a  dis- 
tance, they  looked  smooth  and  even,  like  in- 
verted bowls,  though  when  you  came  near  them 
you  found  that  their  sides  were  rough  and 
broken.  I  had  been  to  the  top  of  a  good  many 
of  them,  and  all  of  those  I  had  explored  I  had 
found  to  be  depressed  in  the  centre  like  little 
craters.  From  some  of  them  tiny  streams  of 
water  ran  down,  helping  to  swell  the  volume  of 
our  creek. 


86        The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Most  of  these  so-called  "  bubbles,"  especially 
the  larger  ones,  were  well  covered  with  pine- 
trees,  and  as  there  were  three  or  four  of  them 
within  easy  reach  of  the  ranch,  it  was  here  that 
we  used  to  get  our  fire-wood. 

There  was  a  good  week's  work  in  this,  and 
after  it  was  finished  there  was  more  or  less  re- 
pairing of  fences  to  be  done,  as  there  alwaj^s  is 
in  the  fall,  and  the  usual  mending  of  sheds, 
stables  and  corrals. 

The  weather  by  this  time  had  turned  cold, 
and  "  the  bottomless  forty  rods "  having  been 
frozen  solid  enough  to  bear  a  load,  Joe  and  I 
were  next  put  to  work  hauling  oats  down  to  the 
livery  stable  men  in  San  Remo,  as  well  as  up  to 
Sulphide. 

Before  this  task  was  accomplished  the  winter 
had  set  in  in  earnest.  We  had  had  one  or  two 
falls  of  snow,  though  in  our  sheltered  Basin  the 
heat  of  the  sun  was  still  sufficient  to  clear  off* 
most  of  it  again,  and  the  frost  had  been  sharp 
enough  to  freeze  up  our  creek  at  its  sources,  so 
that  our  little  waterfall  was  now  converted  into 
a  motionless  icicle.  Fortunatel}",  we  were  not 
dependent  upon  the  creek  for  the  household 
supply  of  water :  we  had  one  pump  which  never 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool  87 

failed  in  the  back  kitchen  and  another  one  down 
by  the  stables. 

The  creek  having  ceased  to  run,  the  surface 
of  the  pool  was  no  longer  agitated  by  the  water 
pouring  into  it,  and  very  soon  it  was  solidly 
frozen  over  with  a  sheet  of  ice  twelve  inches 
thick,  when,  according  to  our  yearly  custom,  we 
proceeded  to  cut  this  ice  and  stow  it  away  in  the 
ice-house ;  having  previously  been  up  to  the 
sawmill  near  Sulphide  and  brought  away,  for 
packing  purposes,  several  wagon-loads  of  sawdust, 
which  the  sawmill  men  readily  gave  us  for  noth- 
ing, being  glad  to  have  it  hauled  out  of  their 
way.  We  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  do  this 
when  we  took  our  loads  of  oats  up  to  Sulphide, 
thus  utilizing  the  empty  wagons  on  the  return 
trip. 

The  pool,  as  I  have  said,  measured  about  a 
hundred  feet  each  way,  though  on  account  of  its 
shallowness  around  the  edges  we  could  only  cut 
ice  over  a  surface  about  fifty  feet  square.  Being 
frozen  a  foot  thick,  however,  this  gave  us  an 
ample  supply  for  all  our  needs. 

The  labor  of  cutting,  hauling  and  housing  the 
ice  fell  to  Joe  and  me,  my  father  having  generally 
plenty  of  other  work  to  do.     He  had  taken  in 


88         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

a  number  of  young  cattle  for  a  neighboring  cattle- 
man for  the  winter,  and  having  sold  him  the  bulk 
of  our  hay  crop  and  at  the  same  time  under- 
taken to  feed  the  stock,  this  daily  duty  alone 
took  up  a  large  part  of  his  time.  Besides  this, 
"  the  forty  rods  "  having  become  passable,  the 
freighters  and  others  now  came  our  way  instead 
of  taking  the  longer  hill-road,  and  their  frequent 
demands  for  a  sack,  or  a  load,  of  oats,  and  now 
and  then  for  hay  or  potatoes,  added  to  the  work 
of  stock-feeding,  kept  my  father  pretty  well  oc- 
cupied. 

Joe  and  I,  therefore,  went  to  work  by  our- 
selves, beginning  operations  on  that  part  of  the 
pool  nearest  the  point  where  the  water  used  to 
pour  in.  We  had  taken  out  ten  or  a  dozen  loads 
of  beautiful,  clear  ice,  when,  one  day,  Yetmore, 
who  was  riding  down  to  San  Remo,  seeing  us  at 
work,  stopped  to  watch  us. 

He  was  a  queer  fellow.  Though  he  must  have 
been  perfectly  well  aware  that  we  distrusted  him  ; 
and  though,  after  the  late  affair  of  the  lead- 
boulder — a  miscarriage  of  his  schemes  which  was 
doubtless  extremely  galling  to  him — one  would 
think  he  would  have  rather  avoided  us  than  not, 
he  appeared  to  feel  no  embarrassment  whatever, 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool  89 

but  Avith  a  greeting  of  well-simulated  cordiality 
he  dismounted  and  walked  over  to  the  pool  to  see 
what  we  were  doing.  Perhaps — and  this,  I 
think,  is  probably  the  right  explanation — if  he 
did  entertain  the  idea  of  some  day  "  getting 
even  "  with  us,  he  had  decided  to  postpone  any 
such  attempt  until  he  saw  an  opportunity  of 
doing  so  at  a  profit. 

"  Fine  lot  of  ice,"  he  remarked,  after  standing 
for  a  moment  watching  Joe  as  he  plied  the  saw. 
"Does  this  creek  always  freeze  up  like  this?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  It  heads  in  Mount  Lin- 
coln, and  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  small 
streams  which  always  freeze  up  about  the  first  of 
November.  That  reduces  the  flow  to  about  one- 
third  its  usual  size ;  and  when  the  little  streams 
which  come  down  from  three  or  four  of  the 
'  bubbles  '  freeze  up  too,  the  creek  stops  entirely  ; 
which  makes  it  mighty  convenient  for  us  to  cut 
ice,  as  you  see." 

"  I  see.     Is  the  pool  the  same  depth  all  over  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered.  "  Just  here,  under  the  fall, 
it  is  deepest,  but  round  the  edges  it  is  so  shallow 
that  we  can't  take  a  stroke  with  the  saw,  the 
sand  comes  so  close  up  to  the  ice.  In  fact,  in 
some  places,  the  ice  rests  right  upon  the  sand." 


90        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  How  deep  is  it  here  ?  " 

"  Four  or  five  feet,  I  think.     Try  it,  Joe." 

Joe,  who  had  just  laid  down  the  saw  and  had 
taken  up  the  long  ice-hook  we  used  for  drawing 
the  blocks  of  ice  within  reach,  lowered  the  hook, 
point  downward,  into  the  water.  Then,  pulling 
it  out  again,  he  stood  it  up  beside  him,  finding 
that  the  wet  mark  on  the  staff  came  up  to  his 
chin. 

**  Five  feet  and  three  or  four  inches,"  said  he. 

"  Is  the  bottom  solid  or  sandy?"  asked  Yet- 
more. 

"  I  didn't  notice.     I'll  try  it." 

With  that  Joe  lowered  the  pole  once  more. 

"  Seems  solid,"  he  remarked,  giving  two  or 
three  hard  prods.  But  he  had  scarcely  said  so, 
when,  to  our  surprise,  several  bits  of  rough  ice 
about  as  big  as  my  hand  bobbed  up  from  the 
bottom. 

"Hallo ! "  exclaimed  Yetmore.    " Ground  ice ! " 

"  What's  ground  ice?  "  I  asked. 

"Why,  ice  formed  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool. 
It  is  not  uncommon,  I  believe,  though  I  don't 
remember  to  have  seen  any  before.  Pretty  dirty 
stuff,  isn't  it?     Must  be  a  sandy  bottom." 

So  saying,  he  stooped  down,  and  picking  up 


What  We  Found  in   the  Pool  91 

the  only  bit  of  ice  which  happened  to  be  within 
reach,  he  examined  its  under  side.  As  he  did  so, 
I  saw  him  give  a  little  start,  as  though  there 
were  something  about  it  to  cause  him  surprise, 
but  just  as  I  reached  out  my  hand  to  ask  him 
to  let  me  see  it,  he  threw  it  back  into  the  water 
out  of  reach — an  action  which  struck  me  as  being 
hardly  polite. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  said  he,  in  apparent  haste, 
"  so,  good-bye.  Hope  you  will  get  your  crop  in 
before  it  snows.  Looks  threatening  to  me ; 
you'll  have  to  hurry,  I  think." 

This  prediction  seemed  to  me  rather  absurd, 
with  the  thermometer  at  zero  and  the  sky  as 
clear  as  crystal ;  but  Yetmore  was  an  indoor 
man  and  could  not  be  expected  to  judge  as  can 
one  whose  daily  work  depends  so  much  upon 
what  the  weather  is  doing  or  is  going  to  do.  It 
did  not  occur  to  me  then — though  it  did  later — 
that  he  only  wanted  us  to  get  to  work  again  at 
once,  and  so  divert  our  minds  from  the  subject 
of  the  ground  ice. 

As  I  made  no  comment  on  his  remark,  Yet- 
more  walked  away,  remounted  his  horse  and 
rode  off;  while  Joe  and  I  went  briskly  to  work 
again. 


92         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

We  had  been  at  it  some  time,  when  Joe 
stopped  sawing,  and  straightening  up,  said  : 

"  It's  queer  about  those  bits  of  ground  ice, 
Phil.  Do  you  notice  how  they  all  float  clean 
side  up?     Wait  a  bit  and  I'll  show  you." 

Taking  the  ice-hook,  he  turned  over  one  of  the 
bits  with  its  point,  showing  its  soiled  side,  but 
the  moment  he  released  it,  the  bit  of  ice  "  turned 
turtle  "  again. 

'*  Do  you  see  ?  "  said  he.  "  The  sand  acts  like 
ballast.     It  must  be  heavy  stuff." 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  Hook  a  bit  of  it  out  and 
let's  look  at  it." 

This  was  soon  done,  when,  on  examining  it,  we 
found  the  under  side  to  be  crusted  with  very 
black  sand,  which,  whatever  might  be  its  nature, 
was  evidently  heavy  enough  to  upset  the  bal- 
ance of  a  small  fragment  of  ice. 

"  What  is  it  made  of,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Joe. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  "  but  perhaps  it  is 
that  black  sand  which  the  prospectors  are  always 
complaining  of  as  getting  in  their  way  when  they 
are  panning  for  gold." 

"  That's  what  it  is,  Phil,  I  expect,"  cried  Joe. 
"  And  what's  more,  that's  what  Yetmore  thought, 
too,  or  else  why  should  he  throw  that  bit  of  ice 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool  93 

back  into  the  water  so  quickly  when  you  held 
out  your  hand  for  it  ?  He  didn't  want  you  to 
see  it." 

"  It  does  look  like  it,"  I  assented.  "  Poke  up 
a  few  more,  Joe,  and  we  will  take  them  home 
and  show  them  to  my  father  :  perhaps  he'll  know 
what  the  stuff  is." 

Joe  took  the  ice-hook  and  prodded  about  on 
the  bottom,  every  prod  bringing  up  one  or  two 
bits  of  ice,  each  one  as  it  bobbed  to  the  surface 
showing  its  sandy  side  for  a  moment  and  then 
turning  over,  clean  side  up.  Drawing  these  to 
the  edge  of  the  ice,  we  picked  them  out,  laying 
them  on  a  gunny-sack  we  had  with  us,  and 
when,  towards  sunset,  we  had  carried  home  and 
housed  our  last  load,  and  had  stabled  and  fed  the 
mules,  we  took  our  scraps  over  to  the  blacksmith- 
shop,  where  the  tinkle  of  a  hammer  proclaimed 
that  my  father  was  at  work  doing  some  mending 
of  something. 

He  was  much  interested  in  hearing  of  the 
ground  ice  and  of  the  way  it  brought  up  the 
black  sand  with  it,  and  still  more  so  in  our  de- 
scription of  Yetmore's  action. 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  he  ;  and  taking  one  of 
our  specimens,  he  stepped  to  the  door  to  examine 


94        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

it,  the  light  in  the  shop  being  too  dim.  He  came 
back  smiling. 

"  Queer  fellow,  Yetmore  !  "  said  he.  "  One 
would  think  that  the  lesson  of  the  lead-boulder 
might  have  taught  him  that  a  man  may  some- 
times be  too  crafty.  I  think  this  is  likely  to 
prove  another  case  of  the  same  kind.  I  believe 
he  has  made  a  genuine  discovery  here — though 
what  it  may  lead  to  there  is  no  telling — and  if 
he  had  had  the  sense  to  let  you  look  at  that 
piece  of  dirty  ice,  instead  of  throwing  it  back 
into  the  water,  thus  arousing  your  curiosity,  he 
would  probably  have  kept  his  discovery  to  him- 
self As  it  is,  he  is  likely  to  have  Tom  Connor 
interfering  with  him  again — that  is  to  say,  if  this 
sand  is  what  I  think  it  is.  I  don't  think  it  is  the 
'  black  sand  '  of  the  prospectors — it  is  too  shiny, 
and  it  has  a  bluish  tinge  besides — I  think  it  is 
something  of  far  more  value.  We'll  soon  find 
out.  Give  me  that  piece  of  an  iron  pot,  Phil ;  it 
will  do  to  melt  the  ice  in." 

Having  broken  up  some  of  our  ice  into  small 
pieces,  we  placed  it  in  a  large  fragment  of  a 
broken  iron  pot,  and  this  being  set  upon  the 
forge,  Joe  took  the  bellows-handle  and  soon  had 
the  fire  roaring  under  it.     It  did  not  take  long 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool         95 

to  melt  the  ice,  when,  pouring  off  the  water,  we 
added  some  more,  repeating  the  process  until 
there  was  no  ice  left.  The  last  of  the  water 
being  then  poured  away,  there  remained  noth- 
ing but  about  a  spoonful  of  very  fine,  black, 
shiny  sand. 

The  receptacle  was  once  more  placed  upon  the 
fire,  and  while  my  father  kept  the  contents 
stirred  up  with  a  stick,  Joe  seized  the  bellows- 
handle  again  and  pumped  away.  Presently  he 
began  to  cough. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Joe  ?  "  asked  my  father, 
laughing. 

"  Sulphur  !  "  gasped  Joe. 

"  Sulphur  !  "  cried  I.  "  I  don't  smell  any  sul- 
phur." 

^'  Come  over  here,  then, and  blow  the  bellows," 
replied  Joe. 

I  took  his  place,  but  no  sooner  had  I  done  so 
than  I,  too,  began  to  cough.  The  smell  of  sul- 
phur evidently  came  from  our  spoonful  of  sand, 
and  as  I  was  standing  between  the  door  and  the 
Avindow  the  draft  blew  the  fumes  straight  into 
my  face.  On  discovering  this,  I  pulled  the  bel- 
lows-handle over  to  one  side,  when  I  was  no 
more  troubled. 


96        The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

The  iron  pot,  being  set  right  down  on  the 
"  duck's  nest  "  and  heaped  all  around  with  glow- 
ing coals,  had  become  red-hot,  when  my  father, 
peering  into  it,  held  up  his  hand. 

"  That'll  do,  Phil.  That's  enough,"  he  cried. 
"  Give  me  the  tongs,  Joe." 

My  father  removed  the  melting-pot,  and  mak- 
ing a  hole  with  his  heel  in  the  sandy  floor  of  the 
shop,  he  poured  the  contents  into  it. 

"  Lead  I  "  we  both  cried,  with  one  voice. 

"  Yes,  lead,"  my  father  replied.  "  Galena  ore, 
ground  fine  by  the  action  of  water." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  "  that  there  is  a 
lead-mine  in  the  bottom  of  the  pool  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  But  there  is  a  vein  of  galena,  size 
and  value  unknown,  somewhere  up  on  Lincoln 
Mountain.  The  fine  black  sand  sticking  to  the 
ground  ice  was  brought  down  by  our  stream, 
being  reduced  to  powder  on  the  way,  and  de- 
posited in  the  pool,  where  its  weight  has  kept  it 
from  being  washed  out  again." 

"  I  see.  And  do  you  suppose  Yetmore  recog- 
nized the  sand  as  galena  ore?  Would  he  be 
likely  to  know  it  in  the  form  of  sand  ?  " 

"  I  expect  so.  He's  a  sharp  fellow  enough. 
He    must    have    seen    pulverized    samples   of 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool         97 

galena  many  a  time  in  the  assayers'  offices. 
I've  seen  them  myself:  that  was  what  gave  me 
my  clue." 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  he'll  do  ?  " 

"  He  is  pretty  certain,  I  think,  to  try  to  get 
hold  of  some  of  the  stuff,  so  that  he  may  test  it 
and  make  sure ;  though  how  he  will  go  about 
it  there's  no  telling.  It  will  be  interesting  to 
see  how  he  manages  it." 

"And  what  shall  you  do,  father?  Go  pros- 
pecting? " 

My  father  laughed,  knowing  that  this  was  a 
joke  on  my  part ;  for  I  was  well  aware  that  he 
would  not  think  of  such  a  thing. 

"  Not  for  us,  Phil,"  he  answered.  "  We  have 
our  mine  right  here.  Raising  oats  and  potatoes 
may  be  a  slow  way  of  getting  rich,  but  it  is  a 
good  bit  surer  than  prospecting.  No,  we'll  tell 
Tom  Connor  about  it  and  let  him  go  prospecting 
if  he  likes.  You  shall  go  up  to  Sulphide  the 
first  Saturday  after  the  ice-cutting  is  finished 
and  give  him  our  information.  There's  no 
hurry  about  it :  he  can't  go  prospecting  while 
the  mountains  are  all  under  snow.  Come  along 
in  to  supper  now.  You've  fed  the  mules,  I 
suppose." 


98         The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

It  was  a  snapping  cold  night  that  night,  and 
about  half-past  eight  I  went  into  the  kitchen  to 
look  at  the  thermometer  which  hung  outside 
the  door.  As  I  came  back,  I  happened  to  glance 
out  of  the  west  window,  when,  to  my  surprise,  I 
thought  I  saw  a  glimmer  of  light  up  by  the 
pool.  Stepping  quickly  into  the  house  again,  I 
went  to  the  front  door  and  looked  out.  Yes, 
there  was  a  light  up  there ! 

"  Father,"  I  called  out,  "  there's  somebody  up 
at  the  pool  with  a  light." 

My  father  sprang  out  of  his  chair.  **  Is 
there?"  he  cried.  "Then  it's  Yetmore,  up  to 
some  of  his  tricks.  Get  into  your  coats,  boys, 
and  let's  go  and  see  what  he's  about." 

As  we  went  out  I  took  down  the  unlighted 
stable-lantern  and  carried  it  with  me  in  case  we 
might  need  it,  and  shutting  the  door  softly  be- 
hind me,  ran  after  the  others.  We  had  not 
covered  half  the  distance  to  the  pool,  however, 
when  the  light  up  there  suddenly  went  out,  and 
a  minute  later  we  heard  the  sound  of  galloping 
hoofs,  muffled  by  the  thin  carpet  of  snow,  going 
off  in  the  direction  of  Sulphide.  Our  visitor, 
whoever  he  was,  had  departed. 


What  We  Found  in  the  Pool         99 

"  Well,  come  on,  anyhow,"  said  my  father. 
"  Let  us  see  what  he  was  doing." 

As  the  thermometer  was  then  standing  at 
three  degrees  below  zero,  we  knew  that  the  sheet 
of  clear  water  we  had  left  in  the  afternoon 
should  have  been  solidly  frozen  over  again  by 
this  time.  What  was  our  surprise,  therefore,  to 
find  that  such  was  not  the  case  :  there  was  only 
a  thin  film  of  ice  ;  it  was  but  just  beginning  to 
form. 

"  That  is  easily  explained,"  remarked  my 
father.  "  The  ice  did  form,  but  some  one  has 
chopped  it  out  and  thrown  it  to  one  side  there. 
See?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joe,  "  and  then  he  took  the 
ice-hook,  which  I  know  I  left  standing  upright 
against  the  rocks,  and  poked  up  the  ground  ice. 
See,  there  are  several  bits  floating  about,  and  I 
remember  quite  well  that  we  cleared  out  every 
one  of  them  this  afternoon.     Didn't  we,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I'm  sure  we  did,  because  I 
remember  that  those  two  or  three  bits  that  had 
no  sand  in  them  we  threw  into  that  corner  in- 
stead of  pitching  them  into  the  water  again.  I 
suppose  it's  Yetmore,  father." 


loo      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Oh,  not  a  doubt  of  it.  Did  he  leave  any 
tracks?" 

By  the  light  of  the  lantern  we  searched  about, 
and  though  there  were  no  tracks  to  be  seen  on 
the  smooth  ice,  there  were  plenty  in  the  snow 
below  the  pool.  They  were  the  foot-prints  of  a 
smallish  man,  for  his  tracks,  in  spite  of  his  wear- 
ing over-shoes,  were  not  so  big  as  the  prints 
made  by  Joe's  boots — though,  as  Joe  himself  re- 
marked, that  was  not  much  to  go  by,  he  being  a 
six-footer  with  feet  to  match,  "  and  a  trifle  over," 
as  his  friends  sometimes  considerately  assured 
him. 

Following  these  footprints,  we  were  led  to  the 
south  gate,  where,  it  was  easy  to  see,  a  horse  had 
been  standing  for  some  time  tied  to  the  gate- 
post. 

"  Well,  he's  got  off  with  his  samples  all  right," 
remarked  my  father.  "  He's  a  smart  fellow,  and 
enterprising,  too.  He  would  deserve  to  win,  if 
only  he  were  not  so  fond  of  taking  the  crooked 
way  of  doing  things.  Come  along.  Let's  get 
back  to  the  house.  There's  nothing  more  to  be 
done  about  it  at  present." 


CHAPTER  VI 

Long  John  Butterfield 

"T30YS,"  said  my  father  next  morning,  "  I've 
-*-^  been  thinking  over  this  discovery  of  ours. 
It  won't  do  to  wait  till  you've  finished  the  ice- 
cutting  to  notify  Tom  Connor.  He  has  been  a 
good  friend  to  us,  and  I  feel  that  we  owe  him 
some  return  for  enabling  me  to  get  this  piece  of 
land  from  Yetmore,  even  though  it  was,  in  a 
manner,  accidental ;  and  as  Tom  is  sure  to  go 
off  prospecting  in  the  spring,  whether  or  no,  we 
may  as  well  give  him  the  chance — if  he  wants 
it — to  go  hunting  for  this  supposed  vein  of 
galena." 

"  He's  pretty  sure  to  want  to,"  said  I. 
"  Yes,  I  think  he  is.  And  as  Yetmore  will 
certainly  find  out  the  nature  of  the  black  sand, 
and  will  be  sending  out  a  prospector  or  two  him- 
self as  soon  as  the  snow  clears  off,  we  must  at 
least  give  Tom  an  equal  chance.  So,  instead  of 
waiting  for  you  to  finish  cutting  the  ice,  I'll 
write  him  a  letter  at  once,  telling  him  all  about 
it,  and  send  it  up  by  this  morning's  coach." 


I02       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

One  of  the  advantages  to  us  of  the  frosty 
weather  was  that  the  mail  coach  between  San 
Remo  and  Sulphide  came  our  way  instead  of 
taking  the  hill-road,  so  that  during  the  winter 
months  we  received  our  mail  daily,  whereas, 
through  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  while  the 
"  forty  rods  "  were  "  bottomless,"  we  had  to  go 
ourselves  to  San  Remo  to  get  it.  The  coach, 
going  up,  passed  our  place  about  ten  in  the 
morning,  and  by  it  my  father  sent  the  promised 
letter. 

We  quite  expected  that  Tom  would  come  fly- 
ing down  at  once,  but  instead  we  received  from 
him  next  morning  a  reply,  stating  that  he  could 
not  leave  his  work,  and  asking  my  father  to 
allow  us  boys  to  do  a  little  prospecting  for  him 
— which,  I  may  say,  we  boys  were  ready  enough 
to  do  if  my  father  did  not  object. 

He  did  not  object ;  being,  indeed,  very  willing 
that  we  should  put  in  a  day's  work  for  the  bene- 
fit of  our  friend.  For,  as  he  said,  to  undertake 
one  day's  prospecting  for  a  friend  was  a  very 
different  matter  from  taking  to  prospecting  as  a 
business. 

It  is  a  fascinating  pursuit ;  men  who  contract 
the  prospecting  disease  seldom  get  the  fever  en- 


Long  John  Butterfield  103 

tirely  out  of  their  systems  again,  and  it  was  for 
this  reason  my  father  was  so  set  against  it,  con- 
sidering that  no  greater  misfortune  could  befall 
two  farmer-boys  like  ourselves  than  to  be  drawn 
into  such  a  way  of  life.  Now  that  we  were 
seventeen  years  old,  however,  and  might  be  sup- 
posed to  have  some  discretion,  he  had  little  fear 
for  Joe  and  me,  knowing,  as  he  did,  that  we 
shared  his  sentiments.  We  had  seen  enough  of 
the  life  of  the  prospector  to  understand  that  a 
more  precarious  way  of  making  a  living  could 
hardly  be  invented. 

How  many  men  get  rich  at  it  ?  I  have  heard 
it  estimated  at  one  man  in  five  thousand  ;  and 
whether  this  estimate — or,  rather,  this  guess — is 
right  or  wrong,  it  shows  the  trend  of  opinion. 

Suppose  a  prospector  does  strike  a  vein  of  ore  : 
what  is  the  common  result  ?  By  the  time  he  has 
sunk  a  shaft  ten  feet  deep  he  must  have  a  wind- 
lass and  a  man  to  work  it,  and  being  in  most 
cases  too  poor  to  hire  a  miner,  his  only  way  of 
getting  help  is  to  take  in  a  partner.  The  two 
go  on  sinking,  until  presently  the  hole  is  too 
deep  to  use  a  windlass  any  more — a  horse-whim 
is  needed  and  then  a  hoisting  engine.  But  it  is 
seldom  that  the  ore  dug  out  of  a  shaft  will  pay 


I04      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  expense  of  sinking  it — for  powder  and  drills, 
ropes,  buckets  and  timbers,  are  expensive  things 
— much  less  enable  the  owner  to  lay  by  any- 
thing, and  the  probability  is  that  to  buy  a  hoist- 
ing engine  he  must  sell  another  portion  of  his 
claim.  And  so  it  goes,  until,  by  the  time  his 
claim  has  been  turned  into  a  mine — for,  as  the 
common  and  very  true  saying  is,  "  Mines  are 
made,  not  found  " — his  share  of  it  will  probably 
have  been  reduced  to  one-quarter  or  less ;  while 
it  is  quite  within  the  limits  of  probability  that, 
becoming  wearied  by  long  waiting  for  the  slow 
development  of  his  prospect,  he  will  have  sold 
out  for  what  he  can  get  and  gone  back  to  his 
old  life. 

But  though  I  do  not  advocate  the  business  of 
prospecting  as  a  way  of  making  a  living — I  had 
rather  pitch  hay  or  dig  potatoes  myself — I  am 
far  from  wishing  to  disparage  the  prospector 
himself  or  to  belittle  the  results  of  his  work. 
He  is  the  pioneer  of  civilization  ;  and  personally 
he  is  generally  a  fine  fellow.  At  the  same  time, 
as  in  every  other  profession,  the  ranks  of  the 
prospectors  include  their  share  of  the  riff-raff. 
It  was  so  in  our  district,  and  we  were  destined 
shortly  to  come  in  contact  with  one  of  them. 


Long  John  Butterfield  105 

Tom  Connor  in  his  letter  instructed  us  as  to 
what  he  wished  us  to  do :  it  was  very  simple. 
He  asked  us  to  walk  up  the  little  caiion  along 
which  our  stream  flowed,  when  it  did  flow,  and 
to  examine  the  bed  of  each  of  its  feeders  as  we 
came  to  them,  to  determine,  if  possible,  which 
of  the  branch  streams  it  was  that  brought  down 
the  powdered  lead-ore.  He  also  suggested  that 
we  get  out  some  more  of  the  black  sand  from 
the  bottom  of  the  pool  for  him  to  see,  and  at  the 
same  time  ascertain,  if  we  could,  how  much  of 
a  deposit  there  was  there. 

The  last  request  we  performed  first.  Taking 
down  to  the  pool  a  long,  pointed  iron  rod,  we 
lowered  it  into  the  water,  marking  the  depth 
by  tying  a  bit  of  string  round  the  rod  at  high- 
water-mark,  and  then  bored  a  hole  down  through 
the  frozen  sand  until  we  struck  bed-rock.  By 
this  means  we  discovered  that  the  deposit  was 
five  inches  thick  at  the  upper  end  of  the  pool. 
A  few  feet  further  from  the  waterfall,  however, 
the  deposit  was  thicker,  but  we  noticed  at  the 
same  time  that  the  ground  ice  which  came  up 
carried  with  it  more  or  less  yellow  sand.  The 
further  we  retreated  from  the  waterfall,  too,  the 
larger   became  the  proportion  of  yellow  sand. 


io6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

until  towards  the  edge  of  the  pool  it  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  black  sand  altogether. 

Having  done  this,  we  poked  up  a  lot  of  the 
ground  ice,  which  we  collected  and  put  into  a 
tin  bucket,  and  taking  this  home  we  melted  the 
ice,  poured  off  the  water,  and  made  a  little  parcel 
of  the  sand  that  remained. 

A  few  days  later  we  had  finished  our  ice- 
cutting  and  had  stowed  away  the  crop  in  the 
ice-house,  when  we  were  at  length  free  to  go  off 
and  make  the  little  prospecting  expedition  that 
Tom  had  asked  us  to  undertake. 

First  walking  up  the  bed  of  the  canon,  where 
the  water  was  now  represented  by  sheets  of 
crackling  white  ice,  we  arrived  presently  at  the 
first  branch  creek  which  came  in  on  the  right. 
This  we  ascended  in  turn,  going  some  distance 
up  it  before  we  found  a  likely  patch  of  sand, 
into  which  we  chopped  a  hole  with  the  old 
hatchet  we  had  brought  for  the  purpose,  dis- 
closing a  little  of  the  black  material  at  the 
bottom  ;  though  the  amount  was  so  scanty  that 
we  could  not  be  sure  it  was  really  the  black  sand 
we  were  seeking. 

Going  on  up  this  branch  creek,  much  impeded 
by  the  snow  Avhich  became  deeper  and  deeper 


Long  John   Butterfield  107 

the  higher  we  ascended,  we  were  nearing  one 
of  the  bends  when  Joe,  who  was  in  advance, 
suddenly  stopped,  exclaiming : 

"  Look  there,  Phil !  Tracks  coming  down  the 
bank.     Somebody  is  ahead  of  us." 

"  So  there  is,"  said  L  "  What  can  he  be  do- 
ing, I  wonder?" 

Following  these  tracks  a  short  distance,  we  very 
soon  discovered  the  reason  for  their  being  there. 
The  man  was  on  the  same  quest  as  ourselves  ! 

In  a  bend  of  the  stream  where  the  snow  lay 
two  feet  thick,  he  had  dug  a  hole  down  to  the 
sand,  and  then  through  the  sand  itself  to  bed- 
rock. At  the  bottom  of  the  hole  was  a  little 
black  sand,  showing  the  marks  of  a  hatchet  or 
knife-blade  where  it  had  been  gouged  out,  but 
all  around  the  hole,  between  the  bed-rock  and 
the  yellow  sand  above,  was  a  black  line  an  inch 
thick,  composed  of  the  shiny ,  powdered  galena  ore. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  man  ahead  of 
us  was  hunting  the  same  game  as  we  were. 

"  Do  you  suppose  it's  Yetmore,  Joe?  "  said  I. 

"  No,"  Joe  answered,  emphaticall}^  "I'm  sure 
it  isn't.  Look  at  his  tracks  :  they  are  bigger 
than  mine." 

"  It  can't  be  Tom,  himself,  can  it?  " 


io8      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  No,  I'm  pretty  sure  it  isn't  Tom  either.  Tom 
is  a  big,  powerful  fellow,  all  right,  but  he's  not 
more  than  five  feet  ten,  while  this  man,  I  think, 
is  extra-tall — see  the  length  of  his  stride  where 
he  came  down  the  bank.  Whoever  he  is,  though, 
Phil,  he's  an  experienced  prospector.  He  hasn't 
wasted  his  time,  as  we  have,  trying  unlikely 
places,  but  has  chosen  this  spot  and  gone  slap 
down  through  snow  and  everything,  just  as  if  he 
knew  that  the  black  sand  would  be  found  at  the 
bottom." 

"  That's  true,"  said  I.  "  I  wonder  who  it  is. 
We  must  find  out  if  we  can,  Joe,  so  that  we  may 
be  able  to  tell  Tom  who  his  competitor  is.  Let's 
follow  his  tracks." 

Getting  out  of  the  creek-bed  again,  we  walked 
along  the  bank  for  nearly  a  mile,  until  Joe, 
stopping  short,  held  up  his  finger. 

"  Hark  !  "  he  whispered.  "  Somebody  chop- 
ping." 

There  was  a  sound  as  of  metal  being  struck 
against  stone  somewhere  ahead  of  us,  so  on  we 
went  again,  making  as  little  noise  as  possible, 
until  presently  Joe  stopped  again,  and  pointing 
forward,  said  softly,  "  There  he  is,  look  !  " 

The  man  was  down  in  the  creek-bed  again,  and 


Long  John   Butterfield  109 

all  we  could  see  of  him  above  the  bank  was  his 
hat.  We  therefore  went  forward  once  more,  tim- 
ing our  steps  by  the  blows  of  the  hatchet,  until 
we  could  see  the  man's  head  and  shoulders  ;  but 
we  did  not  gain  much  by  that,  as  he  had  his 
back  to  us  and  was  too  intent  upon  his  work  to 
turn  round.  At  length,  however,  he  ceased 
chopping,  and  gathering  the  chips  of  frozen  sand 
in  his  hands,  he  cast  them  to  one  side.  In  doing 
so,  he  showed  his  face  for  a  moment,  and  in  that 
brief  glimpse  I  recognized  who  it  was. 

Joe  looked  at  me  with  raised  eyebrows,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Do  you  know  him  ?  ''  to  which 
I  replied  with  a  nod,  and  laying  my  hand  on 
my  companion's  arm,  I  drew  him  back  until 
only  the  top  of  the  man's  hat  was  visible  again, 
when  I  whispered,  "  It's  Long  John  Butterfield." 

"What!  The  man  they  call  'The  Yellow 
Pup  '  ?  How  do  you  suppose  he  came  to  hear 
of  the  black  sand  ?  " 

"  From  Yetmore.  He  is  a  prospector  whom 
Yetmore  grub-stakes  every  summer." 

"  '  Grub-stakes,'  "  repeated  Joe,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes.  Some  prospectors  go  out  on  their  own 
account,  you  know,  but  some  of  them  are  '  grub- 
staked.'    This   man   is  employed  by  Yetmore. 


1 1  o       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

He  sends  him  out  prospecting  every  spring,  pro- 
viding him  with  tools  and  '  grub  '  and  paying 
him  some  small  wages.  Whether  it  is  part  of 
the  bargain  that  Long  John  is  to  get  any  share 
of  what  he  may  find,  I  don't  know,  but  probably 
it  is — that  is  the  general  rule.  There  is  very 
little  doubt  that  Yetmore  has  sent  him  out  now, 
just  as  Tom  has  sent  us  out,  to  see  which  stream 
the  lead-ore  in  the  pool  came  from." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  Well,  shall  we  go  ahead 
and  speak  to  him  ?  " 

Before  I  could  repl}^,  the  man  himself  rose  up, 
looked  about  him,  and  at  once  espied  us.  At 
seeing  us  standing  there  silently  watching  him, 
he  gave  a  not-unnatural  start  of  alarm,  but  per- 
ceiving that  he  had  only  two  boys  to  deal  with, 
even  if  we  were  pretty  big,  he  climbed  up  the 
bank  and  advanced  towards  us  with  a  threaten- 
ing air. 

Standing  six  feet  five  inches  in  his  overshoes, 
he  was  a  rather  formidable-looking  object  as  he 
came  striding  down  upon  us,  a  shovel  in  one 
hand  and  a  hatchet  in  the  other  ;  but  as  we 
knew  him  b}'  reputation  for  a  blusterer  and  a 
coward,  we  awaited  his  coming  v/ithout  any 
alarm  for  our  safety. 


Long  John   Biitterfield  1 1 1 

Long  John  Butterfield  was  a  well-known 
character  in  Sulphide.  Though  a  prospector  all 
summer,  he  was  a  bar-room  loafer  all  winter, 
spending  his  time  hanging  around  the  saloons, 
and  doing  only  work  enough  in  the  way  of  odd 
jobs  to  keep  himself  from  starving  until  spring 
came  round  again,  when  Yetmore  would  provide 
for  him  once  more. 

It  had  formerly  been  his  ambition  to  pass  for 
a  "bad  man,"  though  he  found  it  difficult  to 
maintain  that  reputation  among  the  unbelieving 
citizens  of  Sulphide,  who  knew  that  he  valued 
his  own  skin  far  too  highly  to  risk  it  seriously. 
He  had  been  wont  to  call  himself  "  The  Wolf," 
desiring  to  be  known  by  that  title  as  sounding 
sufficiently  fierce  and  "  bad,"  and  being  of  a  most 
unprepossessing  appearance,  with  his  matted  hair, 
retreating  forehead,  long,  sharp  nose  and  pro- 
jecting ears,  he  did  represent  a  wolf  pretty  well 
— though,  still  better,  a  coyote. 

As  the  people  of  Sulphide,  however,  declined 
to  take  him  at  his  own  valuation,  greeting  his 
frequent  outbreaks  of  simulated  ferocity  with 
derisive  jeers — even  the  small  boys  used  to  scoff 
at  him — he  was  reduced  to  practising  his  arts 
upon  strangers,  which  he  always  hastened  to  do 


I  I  2      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

when  he  thought  it  was  not  likely  to  be  danger- 
ous. Unluckily  for  him,  though,  he  once  tried 
one  of  his  tricks  upon  an  inoffensive  new-comer, 
with  a  result  so  unexpected  and  unwelcome  that 
his  only  desix'e  thereafter  was  that  people  should 
forgetthat  he  had  ever  called  himself  '*  The  Wolf  " 
— a  desire  in  which  his  many  acquaintances, 
whether  working-men  or  loafers,  readily  accom- 
modated him.  But  as  they  playfully  substituted 
the  less  desirable  title  of  "  The  Yellow  Pup," 
Long  John  gained  little  by  the  move. 

It  happened  in  this  way :  There  came  out 
from  New  York  at  one  time  a  young  fellow 
named  Bertie  Van  Ness,  a  nephew  of  Marsden, 
the  cattle  man,  some  of  whose  stock  we  were 
feeding  that  winter.  He  arrived  at  Sulphide 
by  coach  one  morning,  and  before  going  on  to 
Marsden's  he  stepped  into  Yetmore's  store  to  buy 
himself  a  pair  of  riding  gauntlets.  Long  John 
was  in  there,  and  seeing  the  well-dressed,  dapper 
little  man,  with  his  white  collar  and  eastern 
complexion — not  burned  red  by  the  Colorado 
sun,  as  all  of  ours  are — he  winked  to  the  as- 
sembled company  as  much  as  to  say,  "  See  me 
take  a  rise  out  of  the  tenderfoot,"  sidled  up  to 
Bertie,   who   was  a  foot  shorter  than  himself, 


Long  John   Butterfield  1 1  3 

leaned  over  him,  and  putting  on  his  worst  ex- 
pression, said,  in  a  harsh,  growling  voice,  "  I'm 
'  The  Wolf.' " 

It  was  a  trick  that  had  often  been  successful 
before :  peace-loving  strangers,  not  knowing 
whom  they  had  to  deal  with,  would  usually 
back  away  and  sometimes  even  take  to  their 
heels,  which  was  all  that  Long  John  desired. 
In  the  present  instance,  however,  the  "  bad  man  " 
miscalculated.  The  little  stranger,  seeing  the 
ugly  face  within  a  foot  of  his  own,  withdrew  a 
step,  and  without  waiting  for  the  formality  of 
an  introduction,  struck  "The  Wolf"  a  very 
sharp  blow  upon  the  end  of  his  nose,  at  the 
same  time  remarking,  "  Howl,  then,  you 
beast." 

Long  John  did  howl.  Clapping  his  hands 
over  his  face,  he  retreated,  roaring,  from  the 
store,  amid  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  those 
present. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  name  of  "The  Wolf" 
fell  into  disuse  and  the  title,  "Yellow  Pup," 
was  substituted ;  and  if  at  any  time  thereafter 
Long  John  became  obstreperous  or  in  any  way 
made  himself  objectionable,  it  was  only  necessary 
for  some  one  in  company  to  say  "  Bow-wow," 


1 14      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

when  the  offender  would  forthwith  efface  him- 
self, with  promptness  and  dispatch. 

This  was  the  man  who  came  striding  down 
upon  Joe  and  me,  looking  as  though  he  were 
going  to  eat  us  up  at  a  mouthful  and  think 
nothing  of  it.  Doubtless  he  supposed  that,  being 
country  boys,  we  had  not  heard  the  story  of 
Bertie  Van  Ness,  for,  advancing  close  to  us  he 
said  fiercely  : 

"  What  you  doing  here?  Be  off  home  !  Do 
you  know  who  /  am  ?     I'm  '  The  Wolf ' !  " 

"  So  I've  heard,"  said  I,  calmly  ;  a  remark 
which  took  all  the  wind  out  of  the  gentleman's 
sails  at  once.  He  collapsed  with  ridiculous 
suddenness,  and  with  a  sheepish  grin,  said,  "  I 
was  only  just  a-trying  you,  boys,  to  see  if  you 
was  easy  scart." 

"  Well,  you  see  we're  not,"  remarked  Joe. 
"  What  are  you  doing  up  here  ?  Pretty  early  for 
prospecting,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  any  earlier  for  me  than  it  is  for  you," 
replied  Long  John,  with  a  glance  at  the  hatchet 
in  Joe's  hand.     He  was  sharp  enough. 

Joe  laughed.  "That's  true,"  said  he.  "I 
suppose  we're  both  hunting  the  same  thing. 
Did  you  find  any  of  it  in  that  hole  up  there  ?  " 


Long  John   Butterfield  115 

Long  John  hesitated.  He  would  have  per- 
ferred  to  lie  about  it,  probably,  but  knowing 
that  we  could  go  and  see  for  ourselves  in  a  couple 
of  minutes,  he  made  a  virtue  of  necessity  and 
replied : 

"  Yes,  there's  some  of  it  there ;  but  it  don't 
amount  to  much.  I  guess  the  vein  ain't  worth 
looking  for.     Come  and  see." 

We  walked  forward  and  looked  into  the  hole 
Long  John  had  chopped,  when  we  saw  that  his 
prospector's  instinct  had  hit  upon  the  right 
place  again.  Here  also  was  a  black  streak  an 
inch  thick  below  the  yellow  sand. 

It  was  evident  that  the  vein  of  galena  was 
somewhere  up-stream,  though  we  ourselves  were 
unable  to  judge  from  the  amount  of  the  deposit 
whether  it  was  likely  to  be  big  or  little.  Long 
John  might  be  telling  the  truth  when  he 
"  guessed  "  that  it  was  not  worth  looking  for, 
though,  from  what  we  knew  of  him,  we,  in  turn, 
"  guessed  "  that  what  he  said  was  most  likely  to 
be  the  opposite  of  what  he  thought. 

We  could  not  tell,  either,  whether  our  new 
acquaintance  were  speaking  the  truth  when  he 
declared  that  he  was  satisfied  with  his  day's 
work  and  had  already  decided  to  go  home  again  ; 


1 1 6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

I  think  it  rather  likely  that,  being  unable  to 
devise  any  scheme  for  shaking  us  off,  and  not 
caring  to  act  as  prospector  for  us  as  well  as  for 
Yetmore,  he  preferred  to  go  back  at  once  and 
report  progress.  He  was  right,  at  any  rate,  in 
saying  that  the  drifts  ahead  were  too  deep  to 
admit  of  further  prospecting  ;  for  the  mountains 
began  to  close  in  just  here,  and  the  snow  was 
becoming  pretty  heavy. 

Nevertheless,  Joe  and  I  thought  we  would  try 
a  little  further,  if  only  for  the  reason  that  Long 
John  would  not,  and  we  were  about  to  part 
company,  when  we  were  startled  to  hear  a  voice 
above  our  heads  say,  "Good-morning,"  and, 
looking  quickly  up,  we  saw,  seated  on  a  dead 
branch,  a  raven,  to  all  appearance  asleep,  with 
his  feathers  fluffed  out  and  his  head  sunk  be- 
tween his  shoulders. 

That  it  was  our  friend,  Socrates,  we  could  not 
doubt,  and  we  looked  all  around  for  the  hermit, 
but  as  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen,  Joe,  address- 
ing the  raven,  said  : 

''  Hallo,  Sox  !     Where's  your  master  ?  " 

"  Chew  o'  tobacco,"  replied  the  raven. 

At  this  Long  John  burst  out  laughing.  "  Well, 
you're  a  cute  one,"  said  he;  and  thrusting  his 


Long  John  Butterfield  117 

hand  into  his  pocket  he  brought  out  a  piece  of 
tobacco  which  he  invited  Socrates  to  come  and 
get.  Sox  flew  down  to  a  convenient  rock  and 
reached  for  the  morsel,  but  the  moment  he  per- 
ceived that  it  was  not  anything  he  could  eat,  he 
drew  back  in  disdain,  and  eying  Long  John 
with  severity,  remarked,  "  Bow-wow." 

Now,  as  I  have  intimated,  nothing  was  so  ex- 
asperating to  Long  John  as  to  have  any  one  say 
*'  bow-wow  "  to  him,  and  not  considering  that 
the  offender  was  only  a  bird,  he  raised  his 
hatchet  and  would  have  ended  Sox's  career  then 
and  there  had  not  Joe  stayed  his  arm. 

At  being  thus  thwarted,  Long  John  turned 
upon  my  companion,  and  for  a  moment  I  felt  a 
little  uneasy  lest  his  temper  should  for  once  get 
the  better  of  his  discretion  ;  but  I  need  not  have 
alarmed  myself,  for  Long  John's  outbreaks  of 
rage  were  always  carefully  calculated  when  di- 
rected against  any  one  or  anything  capable  of 
retaliation  in  kind,  and  very  probably  he  had 
already  concluded  that  two  well-grown  boys  like 
ourselves,  used  to  all  kinds  of  hard  work,  might 
prove  an  awkward  handful  for  one  whose 
muscles  had  been  rendered  flabby  by  lack  of 
exercise. 


1 1  8       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

At  any  rate,  he  quickly  calmed  down  again, 
pretending  to  laugh  at  the  incident ;  but  though 
he  made  some  remark  about "  a  real  smart  bird," 
I  guessed  from  the  gleam  in  his  little  ferrety 
eyes  that  if  he  could  lay  hands  on  Socrates,  that 
aged  scholar's  chances  of  ever  celebrating  his 
one  hundredth  anniversary  would  be  slim 
indeed. 

"Who's  the  thing  belong  to,  anyhow?  "  asked 
John.  "  There's  no  one  living  around  here  that 
I  know  of." 

"  He  belongs  to  a  man  who  lives  somewhere 
up  on  this  mountain,"  I  replied.  "  You've 
probably  heard  of  him  :  Peter  the  Hermit." 

"  Him ! "  exclaimed  Long  John,  looking 
quickly  all  around,  as  though  he  feared  the 
owner  might  make  his  appearance.  "  Well,  I'm 
off.  I've  got  to  get  back  to  Sulphide  to-night, 
so  I'll  dig  out  at  once." 

So  saying,  he  picked  up  his  long-handled 
shovel,  and  using  it  upside-down  as  a  walking- 
staff,  away  he  went,  striding  over  the  snow  at  a 
ptvMit  pace ;  while  Socrates,  seeing  him  depart, 
\  vy  appropriately  called  after  him,  "  Good-bye, 
.U>jin." 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Heemit's  Warning 

AS  it  was  now  after  midday,  we  concluded 
to  eat  our  lunch  before  going  any  further, 
so,  sitting  down  on  the  rocks,  we  produced  the 
bread  and  cold  bacon  we  had  brought  with  us 
and  prepared  to  refresh  ourselves.  Observing 
this,  Socrates,  who  had  flown  up  into  a  tree 
when  Long  John  threatened  him  with  the 
hatchet,  now  flipped  down  again  and  took  up 
his  station  beside  us,  having  plainly  no  appre- 
hension that  we  would  do  him  any  harm,  and 
doubtless  thinking  that  if  there  was  any  food 
going  he  might  come  in  for  a  share. 

I  was  just  about  to  offer  him  a  scrap  of  bacon, 
when  the  bird  suddenly  gave  a  croak  and  flew 
off*  up  the  mountain.  Naturally,  we  both  looked 
up  to  ascertain  the  reason  for  this  sudden  de- 
parture, when  we  were  startled  to  see  a  tall, 
bearded  man  with  a  long  staff  in  his  hands, 
skimming  down  the  snow-covered  slope  of  the 
mountain  towards  us.  One  glance  showed  us 
119 


I20      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

that  it  was  our  friend,  the  hermit,  though  how 
he  could  skim  over  the  snow  like  that  without 
moving  his  feet  was  a  puzzle  to  us,  until,  on  ap- 
proaching to  within  twenty  yards  of  where  we 
sat,  he  stuck  his  staff  into  the  snow  and  checked 
his  speed,  when  we  perceived  that  he  was  travel- 
ing on  skis. 

"  How  are  you,  boys  ? "  he  cried,  shaking 
hands  with  us  very  heartily.  "  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  again.  Much  obliged  to  you,  Joe,  for  inter- 
fering on  behalf  of  old  Sox.  I  would  not  have 
the  bird  hurt  for  a  good  deal.  I  saw  the  whole 
transaction  from  where  I  was  standing  up  there 
in  that  grove  of  aspens.  Why  did  your  com- 
panion go  off  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "  I  only  just  men- 
tioned to  him  that  Sox  belonged  to  you,  when 
he  picked  up  his  shovel  and  skipped." 

Peter  laughed.  "I  understand,"  said  he. 
"  The  gentleman  and  I  have  met  before,  and 
have  no  wish  to  meet  again.  Our  first  and  only 
interview  was  not  conducive  to  a  desire  for 
further  acquaintance.  He  is  not  a  friend  of 
yours,  I  hope." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  replied.  "  We  never  met  him 
before." 


The  Hermit's  Warning  121 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,  because  he  is  not  one 
to  be  intimate  with  :  he  is  a  thief." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  asked  Joe,  rather 
startled. 

"  Because  I  happen  to  know  it's  so.  I'll  tell 
you  how.  I  had  set  a  bear-trap  once  up  on  the 
mountain  back  of  my  house,  and  going  up  next 
day  to  see  if  I  had  caught  anything,  I  found 
this  fellow  busy  skinning  my  bear.  He  had  come 
upon  it  by  accident,  I  suppose,  and  the  bear  being 
caught  by  both  front  feet,  and  being  therefore 
perfectly  helpless,  he  had  bravely  shot  it,  and 
was  preparing  to  walk  off  with  the  skin  when  I 
appeared." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Peter.  "  I  just  sat  down 
on  a  rock  near  by,  with  my  rifle  across  my  knees, 
and  watched  him  ;  and  he  grew  so  embarrassed 
and  nervous  and  fidgety  that  he  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer,  and  at  last  he  sneaked  off  without 
completing  his  job  and  without  either  of  us 
having  said  a  word." 

"  That  certainly  was  a  queer  inteTview,"  re- 
marked Joe,  laughing,  "  and  a  most  effective  way, 
I  should  think,  of  dealing  with  a  blustering  rogue 
like  Long  John." 


122      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Long  John  ?  "  repeated  the  hermit,  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  Yes,  Long  John  Butterfield  ;  known  also  as 
'  The  Yellow  Pup.'  " 

"  Oh,  that's  who  it  is,  is  it  ?  I've  heard  of  him 
from  my  friend,  Tom  Connor." 

"  Tom  Connor  !  "  we  both  exclaimed.  "  Do 
you  know  Tom  Connor,  then  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  we  have  met  two  or  three  times  in  the 
mountains,  and  he  once  spent  the  night  with  me 
in  my  cabin — he  is  the  *  one  exception  '  I  told 
you  about,  you  remember.  He  seems  like  a  good, 
honest  fellow,  and  he  has  certainly  been  most 
obliging  to  me." 

As  we  looked  inquiringly  at  him,  wondering 
how  Tom  could  have  found  an  opportunity  to  be 
of  service  to  one  living  such  a  secluded  life  as 
the  hermit  did,  our  friend  went  on  : 

"  I  happened  to  mention  to  him  that  I  had 
great  need  of  an  iron  pot,  and  three  days  after- 
wards, on  returning  home  one  evening,  what 
should  I  find  standing  outside  my  door  but  a 
big  iron  pot,  and  in  it  a  chip,  upon  which  was 
written  in  pencil, '  Compliments  of  T.  Connor.'  " 
"  Just  like  Tom,"  said  I,  laughing.  "  He  has 
more  friends  than  any  other  man  in  the  district, 


The  Hermit's  Warning  123 

and  he  deserves  it,  for  when  he  makes  a  friend 
he  can't  rest  easy  until  he  has  found  some  way 
of  doing  him  a  service." 

*'  And  he's  as  honest  as  they  make  'em,"  Joe 
continued.  "  If  he's  a  friend,  he's  a  friend,  and 
if  he's  an  enemy,  he's  an  enemy — he  doesn't 
leave  you  in  doubt." 

"  Just  what  I  should  think,"  said  the  hermit. 
"  Very  different  from  Long  John,  if  I'm  not 
mistaken.  That  gentleman,  I  suspect,  is  of  the 
kind  that  would  shake  hands  with  you  in  the 
morning  and  then  come  in  the  night  and  burn 
your  house  down.  What  were  you  and  he  do- 
ing, by  the  way?  I've  been  watching  you  for 
an  hour.  First  one  and  then  the  other  would 
kneel  doAvn  in  the  snow  and  chop  a  hole  in  the 
bed  of  the  creek,  then  get  up,  walk  a  mile,  and 
do  it  again.  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,"  he 
went  on,  laughing,  "  it  appeared  to  an  outsider 
like  a  crazy  sort  of  amusement." 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  said  I,  laughing 
too  ;  and  I  then  proceeded  to  tell  our  friend  the 
object  of  these  seemingly  senseless  actions. 

"  And  do  you  expect  to  go  prospecting  for 
this  vein  of  galena  in  the  spring  ?  "  he  inquired, 
when  I  had  concluded. 


I  24      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Not  we ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  My  father  wouldn't 
let  us  if  we  wanted  to.  We  are  doing  this  work 
for  Tom  Connor,  whom  my  father  is  anxious  to 
serve,  he  having  done  us,  among  others,  a  very 
good  turn." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  hermit.  "  And  this  man, 
Yetmore,  or,  rather,  his  henchman,  Long  John, 
will  be  coming  as  soon  as  the  snow  is  off  to  hunt 
for  the  vein  in  competition  with  our  friend, 
Connor." 

"  That  is  what  we  expect." 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  help  you  a  little.  We  will, 
at  least,  secure  for  Connor  a  start  over  the 
enemy." 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  You  remember,  of  course,"  said  the  hermit, 
"  that  sulphurous  stuff  that  was  cooking  on  the 
flat  stone  outside  my  door  the  day  you  came 
down  to  my  house  through  the  clouds  ?  That 
was  galena  ore." 

"  Why,  of  course  !  "  I  exclaimed,  slapping  my 
leg.  "  What  pudding-heads  we  must  have  been, 
Joe,  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before.  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  it.  Have  you  found  the 
vein,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not ;  nor  have  I  ever  taken  the 


The  Hermit's  Warning  125 

trouble  to  look  for  it,  having  found  a  place  where 
1  can  get  a  sufficient  supply  for  my  purposes  to 
last  for  years." 

"  And  what  do  you  use  it  for  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  make  bullets  from.  I  get  the  powdered 
ore,  roast  out  the  sulphur  on  that  flat  stone,  and 
then  melt  down  the  residue." 

"  And  where  do  you  get  it?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  You 
know  that  deep,  rocky  gorge  where  Big  Reuben 
had  his  den  ?  Well,  near  the  head  of  that  gorge 
is  a  basin  in  the  rock  in  which  is  a  large  quantity 
of  this  powdered  galena,  all  in  very  fine  grains, 
showing  that  they  have  traveled  a  considerable 
distance.  That  stream  is  one  of  the  four  little 
rills  which  make  up  this  creek,  and  if  you  tell 
Connor  of  this  deposit  it  will  save  him  the  trouble 
of  prospecting  the  other  three  creeks,  as  he  would 
otherwise  naturally  do  ;  and  as  Long  John  will 
pretty  certainly  do,  for  the  creek  coming  out  of 
Big  Reuben's  gorge  is  the  last  of  the  four  he 
would  come  to  if  he  took  up  his  search  where 
he  left  off  to-day — which  would  be  the  plan  he 
would  surely  follow.  It  should  save  Connor  a 
day's  work  at  least — perhaps  two  or  three." 

''That's  true,"  I  responded.     "It  is  an  iw- 


126      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

portant  piece  of  information.  I  wonder,  though, 
that  nobody  else  has  ever  found  the  deposit  you 
speak  of." 

"Do  you?  I  don't.  Considering  that  Big 
Reuben  was  standing  guard  over  it,  I  think  it 
would  have  been  rather  remarkable  if  any  one 
had  discovered  it." 

**  That's  true  enough,"  remarked  Joe.  "  But 
that  being  the  case,  how  did  you  come  to  dis- 
cover it  yourself?  Big  Reuben  was  no  respecter 
of  persons,  that  I'm  aware  of." 

"  Ah,  but  that's  just  it.  He  was.  He  was 
afraid  of  me ;  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  he 
was  afraid  of  Sox — the  one  single  thing  on  earth 
of  which  he  was  afraid.  Before  I  knew  of  his 
existence,  I  was  going  up  the  gorge  one  day 
when  Big  Reuben  bounced  out  on  me,  and  al- 
most before  I  knew  what  had  happened  I  found 
myself  hanging  by  my  finger-tips  to  a  ledge  of 
rock  fifteen  feet  up  the  cliff,  with  the  bear 
standing  erect  below  me  trying  his  best  to  claw 
me  down.  My  hold  was  so  precarious  that  I 
could  not  have  retained  it  long,  and  my  case 
would  have  been  pretty  serious  had  it  not  been 
for  Socrates.  That  sagacious  bird,  seeming  to 
recognize  that  I  was  in  desperate  straits,  flew  up, 


The  Hermit's  Warning  i  27 

perched  upon  the  face  of  the  cliff  just  out  of 
reach  of  the  bear's  claws,  and  in  a  tone  of  au- 
thority ordered  him  to  lie  down.  The  astonish- 
ment of  the  bear  at  being  thus  addressed  by  a 
bird  was  ludicrous,  and  at  any  other  time  would 
have  made  me  laugh  heartily.  He  at  once 
dropped  upon  all  fours,  and  when  Socrates 
flipped  down  to  the  ground  and  walked  towards 
him,  using  language  fit  to  make  your  hair  stand 
on  end,  the  bear  backed  away.  And  he  kept  on 
backing  away  as  Sox  advanced  upon  him,  pour- 
ing out  as  he  came  every  word  and  every  frag-, 
ment  of  a  quotation  he  had  learned  in  the  course 
of  a  long  and  studious  career.  One  of  the  rea- 
sons I  have  for  thinking  that  he  is  getting  on 
for  a  hundred  years  old  is  that  Sox  on  that  occa- 
sion raked  up  old  slang  phrases  in  use  in  the 
first  years  of  the  century — phrases  I  had  never 
heard  him  use  before,  and  which  I  am  sure  he 
cannot  have  heard  since  he  has  been  in  my 
possession. 

"  This  stream  of  vituperation  was  too  much 
for  Big  Reuben.  He  feared  no  man  living,  as 
you  know,  but  a  common  black  raven  with  a 
man's  voice  in  his  stomach  was  '  one  too  many 
for  him,'  as  the  saying  is.     He  turned  and  bolted ; 


128      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

while  Socrates,  flying  just  above  his  head,  pur- 
sued him  with  jeers  and  laughter,  until  at  last 
he  found  inglorious  safety  in  the  inmost  recesses 
of  his  den,  whithei-  Sox  was  much  too  wise  to 
follow  him." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  set  a  high  value  on  old 
Sox,  then,"  said  I.  "  He  probably  saved  your 
life  that  time." 

"  He  certainly  did  :  I  could  not  have  held  on 
five  minutes  longer." 

"  And  did  you  ever  run  across  Big  Reuben 
again?"  asked  Joe. 

"  Yes.  Or,  rather,  I  suppose  I  should  say 
'no.'  I  saw  him  a  good  many  times,  but  he 
never  would  allow  me  to  come  near  him. 
Whether  he  thought  I  was  in  league  with  the 
Evil  One,  I  can't  say,  but,  at  any  rate,  one 
glimpse  of  me  was  enough  to  send  him  flying ; 
and  as  I  was  sure  I  need  have  no  fear  of  him,  I 
had  no  hesitation  in  walking  up  the  gorge  if  it 
happened  to  be  convenient ;  and  thus  it  was  that 
I  discovered  the  deposit  of  lead-ore  up  near  its 
head." 

As  this  piece  of  information  precluded  the 
necessity  of  our  prospecting  any  further,  and  as 
we  had  by  this  time  flnished  our  meal — which 


The  Hermit's  Warning  129 

was  shared  by  Peter  and  his  attendant  sprite — 
we  informed  our  friend  that  it  was  time  for  us 
to  be  starting  back  ;  upon  which  he  remarked 
that  he  would  go  part  of  the  way  with  us,  as,  by 
taking  one  of  the  gulches  farther  on  he  would 
find  an  easier  ascent  to  his  house  than  by  re- 
turning the  way  he  had  come.  Hanging  his 
skis  over  his  shoulder,  therefore,  he  trudged 
along  beside  us  at  a  pace  which  made  us  hustle 
to  keep  up  with  him. 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  be  able  to  find  my 
house  again?"  asked  the  hermit  as  we  walked 
along. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I'm  sure  we  couldn't. 
When  we  came  down  the  mountain  in  the 
clouds  that  day  we  were  so  mixed  up  that  we  did 
not  even  know  whether  we  were  on  Lincoln  or 
Elkhorn,  though  we  had  kept  away  so  much  to 
the  left  coming  down  that  we  rather  thought  we 
must  have  got  on  to  one  of  the  spurs  of  Lincoln." 

"  Well,  you  had.  I'll  show  you  directly  what 
line  you  took." 

Half  a  mile  farther  on,  at  the  point  where  the 
stream  we  were  following  joined  our  own  creek, 
our  friend  stopped,  and  pointing  up  the  moun- 
tain, said  : 


130      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  If  you  ever  have  occasion  to  come  and  look 
me  up,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  follow  your  own 
creek  up  to  its  head,  when  you  will  come  to  a 
high,  unscalable  clilf,  and  right  at  the  foot  of  that 
cliff  you  will  see  the  great  pile  of  fallen  rocks  in 
which  my  house  is  hidden.  You  can  see  the 
cliff  from  here.  When  you  came  down  that  day 
you  missed  the  head  of  the  creek  you  had  fol- 
lowed in  going  up,  and  by  unconsciously  bear- 
ing to  your  left  all  the  time  you  passed  the 
heads  of  several  others  as  well,  and  so  at  length 
you  got  into  the  valley  which  would  have 
brought  you  out  here  if  j^ou  had  continued  to 
follow  it." 

"  I  see.     How  far  up  is  it  to  your  house?  " 
"  About  five  miles  from  where  we  stand." 
"  It  must  be  all  under  snow  up  there,"  re- 
marked Joe.     "  I  wonder  you  are  not  afraid  of 
being  buried  alive." 

The  hermit  smiled.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  that," 
said  he.  ''  It  is  true  the  gulch  below  me  gets 
drifted  pretty  full — there  is  probably  forty  feet 
of  snow  in  it  at  this  moment — but  the  point 
where  my  house  stands  always  seems  to  escape ; 
a  fact  which  is  due,  I  think,  to  the  shape  of  the 
cliff  behind  it.     It  is  in  the  form  of  a  horse- 


The  Hermit's  Warning  131 

shoe,  and  whichever  way  the  wind  blows,  the 
cliff  seems  to  give  it  a  twist  which  sends  the 
snow  off  in  one  direction  or  another,  so  that, 
while  the  drifts  are  piled  up  all  around  me,  the 
head  of  the  gulch  is  always  fairly  free." 

"  That's  convenient,"  said  Joe.  "  But  for  all 
that,  I  think  I  should  be  afraid  to  live  there 
myself,  especially  in  the  spring." 

''Why?"  asked  the  hermit.  "Why  in  the 
spring  particularly  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  afraid  of  snowslides.  The 
mountain  above  the  cliff  is  very  steep — at  least 
it  looks  so  from  here." 

"  It  is  very  steep,  extremely  steep,  and  the 
snow  up  there  is  very  heavy  this  winter — I  went 
up  to  examine  it  two  days  ago.  But  at  the  same 
time  I  saw  no  traces  of  there  ever  having  been  a 
slide.  There  are  a  good  many  trees  growing  on 
the  slope,  some  of  them  of  large  size,  which  is 
pretty  fair  evidence  that  there  has  been  no  slide 
for  a  long  time — not  for  a  hundred  years  prob- 
ably. For  as  you  see,  there  and  there  " — point- 
ing to  two  long,  bare  tracks  on  the  mountain- 
side— "  when  the  slides  do  come  down  they  clean 
off  every  tree  in  their  course.  No,  I  have  no  fear 
of  snowslides. 


132       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  By  the  way/'  he  continued,  "  there  is  one 
thing  you  might  tell  Tom  Connor  when  you  see 
him,  and  that  is  that  Big  Reuben's  creek  heads 
in  a  shallow  draw  on  the  mountain  above  my 
house.  If  you  follow  with  your  eye  from  the 
summit  of  the  cliff  upward,  you  will  notice  a 
stretch  of  bare  rock,  and  above  it  a  strip  of 
trees  extending  downward  from  left  to  right. 
It  is  among  those  trees  that  the  creek  heads. 

"You  might  mention  that  to  Connor,"  he 
went  on,  "  in  case  he  should  prefer  to  begin  his 
prospecting  downward  from  the  head  of  the 
creek  instead  of  upward  from  Big  Reuben's 
gorge.  And  tell  him,  too,  that  if  he  will  come 
to  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  him  up  there  at 
any  time." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  "  we'll  do  so." 

''  Yes,  we'll  certainly  tell  him,"  said  Joe.  "  It 
might  very  well  happen  that  Tom  would  prefer 
to  begin  at  the  top,  especially  if  he  should  find 
that  Long  John  had  got  ahead  of  him  and  was 
already  working  up  from  below." 

"  Exactly.  That  is  what  I  was  thinking  of. 
Well,  I  must  be  off.  I  have  a  longish  tramp  be- 
fore me,  and  the  sunset  comes  pretty  early  under 
my  cliff." 


The  Hermit's  Warning  133 

"  Won't  you  come  home  with  us  to-night?  "  I 
asked.  *'  We  have  only  two  miles  to  go.  My 
father  told  me  to  ask  you  the  next  time  we  met, 
and  this  is  such  a  fine  opportunity.  I  wish  you 
would." 

"  Yes  ;  do,"  Joe  chimed  in. 

But  the  hermit  shook  his  head.  "You  are 
very  kind  to  suggest  it,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am 
really  greatly  obliged  to  you,  and  to  Mr.  Craw- 
ford also,  but  I  think  not.  Thank  you,  all  the 
same  ;  but  I'll  go  back  home.     So,  good-bye." 

"  Some  other  time,  perhaps,"  suggested  Joe. 

"  Perhaps — we'll  see.  By  the  way,  there  was 
one  other  thing  I  intended  to  say,  and  that  is  : — 
look  out  for  Long  John  !  He  is  a  dangerous 
man  if  he  is  a  coward  ;  in  fact,  all  the  more 
dangerous  because  he  is  a  coward.  So  now,  good- 
bye ;  and  remember " — holding  up  a  warning 
finger — "  look  out  for  Long  John  !  " 

With  that,  he  slipped  his  feet  into  his  skis 
and  away  he  went ;  while  Joe  and  1  turned  our 
own  faces  homeward. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Wild  Cat's  Trail 

"  TTE  is  quite  right,"  said  my  father,  when,  on 
AT-  reaching  home  again,  we  related  to  him 
the  results  of  our  day's  work  and  told  him  how 
the  hermit  had  warned  us  against  Long  John. 
"  He  is  quite  right.  Your  hermit  is  a  man  of 
sense  in  spite  of  his  reputation  to  the  contrary. 
Yetmore,  of  course,  will  do  anything  he  can  to 
forestall  Tom  Connor,  but,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
he  will  not  venture  beyond  the  law  ;  whereas 
Long  John,  I  feel  sure,  would  not  be  restrained 
by  any  such  consideration.  He  would  be  quite 
ready  to  resort  to  violence,  provided  always  that 
he  could  do  it  without  risk  to  his  own  precious 
person.  The  hermit  is  right,  too,  in  saying  that 
Long  John  is  all  the  more  dangerous  for  being 
the  cowardly  creature  that  he  is  :  whatever  he 
may  do  to  head  oif  Tom  will  be  done  in  the 
dark — you  may  be  sure  of  that.  We  must  warn 
Tom,  so  that  he  may  be  on  his  guard." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  won't  be  much  use  warning 
Tom,"  said  I.     "  He  is  such  a  heedless  fellow 
134 


The  Wild  Cat's  Trail  135 

and  so  chuck  full  of  courage  that  he  won't 
trouble  to  take  any  precautions." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  will,  but  we  will  warn 
him,  all  the  same,  so  that  he  may  at  least  go 
about  with  his  eyes  open.  I'll  write  to  him 
again  to-morrow.  And  now  to  our  own  business. 
Come  into  the  back  room.     I  want  your  opinion." 

It  had  been  my  father's  custom  for  some  time 
back — and  a  very  good  custom,  too,  I  think — 
whenever  there  arose  a  question  of  management 
about  the  affairs  of  the  ranch,  to  take  Joe  and 
me  into  consultation  with  him.  It  is  probable 
enough  that  our  opinion,  when  he  got  it,  was 
not  worth  much,  but  the  mere  fact  that  we  were 
asked  for  it  gave  us  a  feeling  of  responsibility 
and  grown-up-ness  which  had  a  good  effect. 
Whenever,  therefore,  any  question  of  importance 
turned  up,  the  whole  male  jDopulation  of  Craw- 
ford's Basin  voted  upon  it,  and  though  it  is  true 
that  nine  times  out  of  ten  any  proposition  ad- 
vanced by  my  father  would  receive  a  unanimous 
vote,  it  did  happen  every  now  and  then  that  one 
of  us  would  make  a  suggestion  which  would  be 
adopted,  much  to  our  satisfaction,  thus  adding  a 
zest  to  the  work,  whatever  it  might  be.  For 
whether  the  plan  originated  with  my  father  or 


136      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

with  one  of  us,  as  we  all  voted  on  it  we  thereby 
made  it  our  own,  and  having  made  it  our  own, 
we  took  infinitely  more  interest  in  its  accomplish- 
ment than  does  the  ordinary  hired  man,  who  is 
told  to  do  this  or  do  that  without  reason  or  ex- 
planation. 

It  will  be  readily  understood,  too,  how  flatter- 
ing it  was  to  a  couple  of  young  fellows  like  our- 
selves to  be  asked  for  our  opinion  by  a  man  like 
my  father,  for  whose  good  sense  and  practical 
knowledge  we  had  the  greatest  respect,  and  of 
course  we  were  all  attention  at  once,  when,  seat- 
ing himself  in  his  desk  chair,  he  began  : 

"  You  remember  that  when  Marsden's  cattle 
first  came  they  broke  a  couple  of  the  posts  around 
the  hay-corral,  and  that  when  we  re-set  them  we 
found  that  the  butt-ends  of  the  posts  were  be- 
ginning to  get  pretty  rotten  ?  " 

He  happened  to  catch  Joe's  eye,  who  replied  : 

"  I  remember ;  and  you  said  at  the  time  that 
we  should  have  to  renew  the  fence  entirely  in 
two  years  or  less." 

"  Exactly.  Well,  now,  this  is  what  I've  been 
thinking  :  instead  of  renewing  with  posts  and 
poles,  why  not  build  a  rough  stone  wall  all  round 
the  present  fence,  which,  when  once  done,  would 


The  Wild  Cat's  Trail  137 

last  forever  ?  Within  a  half-mile  of  the  corral 
there  is  material  in  plenty  fallen  from  the  face 
of  the  Second  Mesa ;  and  everything  on  the 
ranch  being  in  good  working  order,  you  two  boys 
would  be  free  to  put  in  several  weeks  hauling 
stones  and  dumping  them  outside  the  fence — the 
actual  building  I  would  leave  till  next  fall.  It 
will  mean  a  long  spell  of  pretty  hard  work,  for 
you  will  hardly  gather  material  enough  if  you 
keep  at  it  all  the  rest  of  the  winter.  Now,  what 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  like  a  good  plan,"  Joe  an- 
swered. "  We  can  take  two  teams  and  wagons, 
help  each  other  to  load,  drive  down  together, 
and  help  each  other  to  unload ;  for  I  suppose 
you  would  use  stones  as  big  as  we  can  handle  by 
preference." 

"  Yes,  the  bigger  the  better  ;  especially  for  the 
lower  courses  and  for  the  corners.  What's  your 
opinion,  Phil  ?  " 

''  I  agree  with  Joe,"  I  replied.  "  And  with 
such  a  short  haul — for  it  will  average  nearer  a 
quarter  than  half  a  mile — I  should  think  we 
might  even  collect  stones  enough  for  the  purpose 
this  winter,  provided  there  doesn't  come  a  big 
fall  of  snow  and  stop  us." 


138       The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Then  you  shall  begin  to-morrow,"  said  my 
father. 

"  But  here's  another  question,"  he  continued. 
"  Should  we  build  the  wall  close  around  the  pres- 
ent fence,  or  should  we  increase  the  size  of  the 
corral  while  we  are  about  it?  " 

"  I  should  keep  to  the  present  dimensions," 
said  I.  "  There  is  no  chance  that  I  see  of  our 
ever  increasing  the  size  of  our  hay-crop  to  any 
great  extent,  and  the  corral  we  have  now  has 
always  held  it  all,  even  that  very  big  crop  we 
had  the  summer  Joe  came.     If " 

"  Yes,  '  if,'  "  my  father  interrupted,  knowing 
very  well  what  I  had  in  mind.  ''  If  we  could 
drain  '  the  bottomless  forty  rods  '  we  should  need 
a  corral  half  as  big  again  ;  but  I'm  afraid  that  is 
beyond  us,  so  we  may  as  well  confine  ourselves 
to  providing  for  present  needs." 

"  My  wig !  "  exclaimed  Joe — his  favorite  ex- 
clamation— at  the  same  time  rumpling  his  hair, 
as  though  that  were  the  wig  he  referred  to. 
"  What  a  great  thing  it  would  be  if  we  could  but 
drain  those  forty  rods  !  " 

"  It  undoubtedly  would,"  replied  my  father. 
*'  It  would  about  double  the  value  of  the  ranch, 
I  think  ;  for,  besides  diverting  the  present  county 


The  Wild  Cat's  Trail  139 

road  between  San  Remo  and  Sulphide — for 
everybody  would  then  leave  the  old  hill-road 
and  come  past  our  door  instead — it  would  give 
us  a  large  piece  of  new  land  for  growing  oats  and 
hay.  And,  do  you  know,  I  begin  to  think  it  is 
very  possible  that  within  a  couple  of  years  we 
shall  have  a  market  for  more  oats  and  hay  than 
we  can  grow,  even  including  the  *  forty  rods.' " 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  in  surprise  ;  for,  at  present, 
though  we  disposed  of  our  produce  readily 
enough,  it  could  not  be  said  that  there  was  a 
booming  market. 

"  It  is  just  guess-work,"  my  father  replied, 
"  pure  guess-work  on  my  part,  with  a  number 
of  good  big  '  ifs '  about  it ;  but  if  Tom  Connor 
or  Long  John,  or,  indeed,  any  one  else,  should 
discover  a  big  vein  of  lead-ore  up  on  Mount 
Lincoln — and  the  chances,  I  think,  begin  to 
look  favorable — what  would  be  the  result?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  I.     "  What  ?  " 

"  Why,  this  whole  district  would  take  a  big 
leap  forward — that  is  what  would  happen.  You 
see,  as  things  stand  now,  the  smelters,  not  being 
able  to  procure  in  the  district  lead-ores  enough 
for  fluxing  purposes,  are  obliged  to  bring  them 
in  by  railroad  from  other  camps.     This  is  very 


140      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

expensive,  and  the  consequence  is  that  they  are 
obliged  to  make  such  high  charges  for  smelting 
that  any  ore  of  less  value  than  thirty  dollars  to 
the  ton  is  at  present  worthless  to  the  miner :  the 
cost  of  hauling  it  to  the  smelter  and  the  smelter- 
charges  when  it  gets  there  eat  up  all  the  pro- 
ceeds." 

"  I  see,"  said  Joe.  "  And  the  discovery  of  a 
mine  which  would  provide  the  smelters  with  all 
the  lead-ore  they  wanted  would  bring  down  the 
charges  of  smelting  and  enable  the  producers  of 
thirty  dollar  ore  to  work  their  claims  at  a 
profit." 

"  Precisely.  And  as  nine-tenths  of  the  claims 
in  the  district  produce  mainly  low-grade  ore, 
which  is  now  left  lying  on  the  dumps  as  worth- 
less, and  as  even  the  big  mines  take  out,  and 
throw  aside,  probably  ten  tons  of  low-grade  in 
getting  out  one  ton  of  high-grade,  you  can  see 
what  a  '  boost '  the  district  would  receive  if  all 
this  unavailable  material  were  suddenly  to  be- 
come a  valuable  and  marketable  commodity." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  !  "  exclaimed  Joe, 
enthusiastically.  "  The  prospectors  would  be 
getting  out  by  hundreds  ;  the  population  of  Sul- 
phide would  double ;  San  Remo  would  take  a 


The  Wild   Cat's  Trail  141 

great  jump  forward ;  while  we — why,  we 
shouldn't  begin  to  be  able  to  grow  oats  and  hay 
enough  to  meet  the  demand." 

My  father  nodded.  "  That's  what  I  think," 
said  he. 

"And  there's  another  thing,"  cried  I,  taking 
up  Joe's  line  of  prophecy.  "  If  a  big  vein  of 
lead-ore  should  be  discovered  anywhere  about 
the  head  of  our  creek,  the  natural  way  for  the 
freighters  to  get  down  to  San  Remo  would  be 
through  here,  if " 

''  That's  it,"  interrupted  my  father.  "  That's 
the  whole  thing.     I-f,  if." 

Dear  me !  What  a  big,  big  little  word  that 
was.  To  represent  it  of  the  size  it  looked  to  us, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  paint  it  on  the  sky  with 
the  tail  of  a  comet  dipped  in  an  ocean  of  ink ! 

After  a  pause  of  a  minute  or  two,  during 
which  we  all  sat  silent,  considering  over  again 
what  we  had  considered  many  and  many  a  time 
before :  whether  there  were  not  some  possible 
way  of  draining  off  the  "  forty  rods,"  Joe  sud- 
denly straightened  himself  in  his  seat,  rumpled 
his  hair  once  more — by  which  sign  I  knew  he 
had  some  idea  in  his  head — and  said  : 

"  I  suppose  you  have  thought  of  it  before,  Mr. 


142      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Crawford,  but  would  it  be  possible  to  run  a  tun* 
nel  up  from  the  lower  edge  of  the  First  Mesa, 
and  so  draw  off  the  water?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  before,  Joe,"  replied  my 
father,  "  and  while  I  think  it  might  work,  I 
have  concluded  that  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
How  long  a  tunnel  would  it  take,  do  you  calcu- 
late?" 

"  Well,  a  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
I  suppose." 

'^  Yes.  Say  twelve  hundred  feet,  at  least. 
Well,  to  run  a  tunnel  of  that  length  would  be 
cheap  at  ten  dollars  a  foot." 

"  Phew  I  "  Joe  whistled,  opening  his  eyes 
widely.  "  That  is  a  staggerer,  sure  enough.  It 
does  look  as  if  there  was  no  way  out  of  it." 

"  No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  my  father.  "  And 
as  to  making  a  permanent  road  across  the  marsh, 
I  have  tried  everything  I  can  think  of  includ- 
ing corduroying  with  long  poles  covered  with 
brush  and  earth.  But  it  was  no  use.  We  had 
a  very  wet  season  that  summer,  and  the  road, 
poles  and  all,  was  covered  with  water.  That 
settled  it  to  my  mind  ;  we  could  not  expect  the 
freighters  and  others  to  come  our  wa}'  when,  at 
any  time,  they  might  find  the  road  under  water." 


The  Wild  Cat's  Trail  143 

"  No ;  that  did  seem  to  be  a  clincher.  Well, 
as  there  appears  to  be  no  more  to  be  said,  let's 
get  to  bed,  Phil.  If  we  are  going  to  haul  rocks 
to-morrow,  we  shall  need  a  good  night's  sleep  as 
a  starter." 

The  cliff  which  bounded  the  eastern  edge  of 
the  Second  Mesa — at  the  same  time  bounding 
the  ranch  on  its  western  side — was  made  up  of 
layers  of  rock  of  an  average  thickness  of  about 
a  foot,  having  been  evidently  built  up  by  suc- 
cessive small  flows  of  lava.  The  stones  piled  at 
the  foot  of  the  bluff  being  flat  on  both  sides  were 
therefore  very  convenient  for  wall-building,  and 
so  plentiful  that  we  made  rapid  progress  at  first 
in  hauling  them  down  to  the  corral.  At  the  end 
of  three  weeks,  however,  we  had  picked  up  all 
those  fragments  that  were  most  accessible,  and 
were  now  obliged  to  loosen  up  the  great  heaps  of 
larger  slabs  and  crack  the  stones  with  a  sledge- 
hammer. Some  of  these  heaps  were  so  large, 
and  the  stones  composing  them  of  such  great 
size,  that  when  we  came  to  dislodge  them  we 
found  that  an  ordinary  crowbar  made  no  im- 
pression ;  but  we  overcame  that  difficulty,  at 
Joe's  suggestion,  by  using  a  big  pine  pole  as  a 
lever.     Inserting  the  butt-end  of  the  pole  be- 


144      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

tween  two  big  rocks,  we  would  tie  a  rope  to  the 
other  end  and  hitch  the  mules  to  it.  The  lever- 
age thus  obtained  was  tremendous,  and  unless 
the  pole  broke,  something  had  to  come.  In  this 
way  we  could  sometimes  bring  down  at  one  pull 
rock  enough  to  keep  us  busy  for  a  week. 

Day  after  day,  without  a  break,  we  continued 
this  work,  and  though  it  was  certainly  hard 
labor  we  enjoyed  it,  especially  when,  by  con- 
stant practice  we  found  ourselves  handling  all 
the  time  bigger  and  bigger  stones  with  less  and 
less  exertion. 

It  would  seem  that  there  could  not  be  much 
art  in  so  simple  a  matter  as  putting  a  stone  into 
a  wagon,  and  as  far  as  stones  of  moderate  size  are 
concerned  there  is  not.  But  when  you  come  to 
deal  with  slabs  of  rock  weighing  a  thousand 
pounds  or  more,  you  will  find  that  the  "  know 
how  "  counts  for  very  much  more  than  mere 
strength. 

Of  course,  to  handle  pieces  of  this  size  it  was 
necessary  to  use  skids  and  crowbars,  with  which, 
aided  by  little  rollers  made  of  bits  of  gas-pipe, 
we  did  not  hesitate  to  tackle  stones  which,  when 
we  first  began,  we  should  have  cracked  into  two 
or  three  pieces. 


The  Wild  Cat's  Trail  145 

We  had  been  at  it,  as  I  have  said,  for  more 
than  three  weeks,  when  it  happened  one  day  that 
while  driving  down  with  our  last  load,  we  were 
met  face  to  face  by  a  wildcat,  with  one  of  our 
chickens  in  its  mouth.  There  were  a  good  many 
of  these  animals  having  their  lairs  among  the 
fallen  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  mesa,  and  they 
caused  us  some  trouble,  but  this  was  the  first 
time  I  had  known  one  to  make  a  raid  on  the 
chicken-yard  in  broad  daylight.  I  suppose 
rabbits  were  scarce,  and  the  poor  beast  was 
driven  to  this  unusual  course  by  hunger. 

I  was  driving  the  mules  at  the  moment,  but 
Joe,  who  was  walking  beside  the  wagon,  picked 
up  a  stone  and  hurled  it  at  the  cat.  The  animal, 
of  course,  bolted — taking  his  chicken  with  him, 
though — and  disappeared  among  the  rocks  close 
to  where  we  had  just  been  at  work. 

"  Joe,"  said  I,  "  we'll  bring  up  the  shotgun  to- 
morrow. We  may  stir  that  fellow  out  and  get  a 
shot  at  him." 

Accordingly,  next  day,  we  took  the  gun  with 
us,  and  leaning  it  against  a  tree  near  the  wagon, 
set  about  our  usual  work.  The  first  stone  we 
loaded  that  morning  was  an  extra-large  one,  and 
Joe  on  one  side  of  the  wagon  and  I  on  the  other 


146       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

were  prying  it  into  position  with  our  pinch-bars, 
when  my  companion,  who  was  facing  the  bluff, 
gently  laid  down  his  bar  and  whispered  : 

"  Keep  quiet,  Phil !  Don't  move  !  I  see  that 
wildcat !  Get  hold  of  the  lines  in  case  the  mules 
should  scare,  while  I  see  if  I  can  reach  the  gun." 

Stooping  behind  the  wagon,  he  slipped  away 
to  where  the  gun  stood,  came  stooping  back,  and 
then,  straightening  up,  he  raised  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder.  Up  to  that  moment  the  cat  had  stood 
so  still  that  I  had  been  unable  to  distinguish  it, 
but  just  as  Joe  raised  the  gun  it  bolted.  My 
partner  fired  a  snap-shot,  and  down  came  the  cat, 
tumbling  over  and  over. 

"  Good  shot ! "  I  cried.  But  hardly  had  I 
done  so  when  the  animal  jumped  up  again  and 
popped  into  a  hole  between  two  rocks  before  Joe 
could  get  a  second  shot. 

"  Let's  dig  him  out,  Joe,"  I  cried.  And  seiz- 
ing a  crowbar,  I  led  the  way  to  the  foot  of  the 
cliff. 

Working  away  with  the  bar,  while  Joe  stood 
ready  with  the  gun,  I  soon  enlarged  the  hole 
enough  to  let  me  look  in,  but  it  was  so  dark  in- 
side, and  I  got  into  my  own  light  so  much  that 
I  could  see  nothing. 


The  Wild   Cat's  Trail  147 

I  happened  to  have  a  letter  in  my  pocket,  and 
taking  the  envelope  I  dropped  a  little  stone  into 
it,  screwed  up  the  corner,  and  lighting  the  other 
end,  threw  the  bit  of  paper  into  the  hole.  My 
little  fire-brand  flickered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
burned  up  brightly,  when  I  saw  the  wildcat 
lying  flat  upon  its  side,  evidently  quite  dead. 

Thereupon  we  both  set  to  work  and  enlarged 
the  hole  so  that  Joe  could  crawl  in,  which  he 
immediately  did.  I  expected  him  to  come  out 
again  in  a  moment,  but  it  was  a  full  minute  be- 
fore he  reappeared,  and  when  he  did  so  he  only 
poked  out  his  head  and  said,  in  an  excited  tone  : 

"  Come  in  here,  Phil !  Here's  the  queerest 
thing — just  come  in  here  for  a  minute  !  " 

Of  course  I  at  once  crept  through  the  hole,  to 
find  myself  in  a  little  chamber  about  ten  feet 
long,  six  feet  wide  and  four  feet  high,  built 
up  of  great  flat  slabs  of  stone,  which,  falling 
from  above,  had  accidentally  so  arranged  them- 
selves as  to  form  this  little  room. 

At  first  I  thought  it  was  the  little  room  itself 
to  which  Joe  had  referred  as  "  queer,"  but  Joe, 
scouting  such  an  idea,  exclaimed  : 

"  No,  no,  bless  you  !  I  didn't  mean  that. 
That's  nothing.     Look  here  !  " 


148       The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

So  saying,  he  struck  a  match  and  showed  me, 
along  one  side  of  the  chamber,  a  great  crack  in 
the  ground,  three  feet  wide,  extending  to  the 
left  an  unknown  distance — for  in  that  direction 
it  was  covered  by  loose  rocks  of  large  size — while 
to  the  right  it  pinched  out  entirely. 

It  was  evident  to  me  that  this  crevice  had 
existed  ever  since  the  great  break  had  occurred 
which  had  separated  the  First  from  the  Second 
Mesa,  but  that,  being  covered  by  the  fragments 
which  had  fallen  from  the  cliff — itself  formed  by 
the  subsidence  of  the  First  Mesa  from  what  had 
once  been  the  general  level — it  had  hitherto  re- 
mained concealed. 

"  Well,  that  certainly  is  '  queer,'  "  said  I. 
*'  How  deep  is  it,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.     Pitch  a  stone  into  it." 

I  did  so  ;  judging  from  the  sound  that  the 
crevice  was  probably  thirty  or  forty  feet  deep. 

"  That's  what  I  should  guess,"  said  Joe.  "  But 
there's  another  thing,  Phil,  a  good  deal  queerer 
than  a  mere  crack  in  the  ground.  Lie  down  and 
put  your  ear  over  the  hole  and  listen." 

I  did  as  directed,  and  then  at  length  I  under- 
stood where  the  "  queerness  "  came  in.  I  could 
distinctly  hear  the  rush  of  water  down  below  I 


The  Wild   Cat's  Trail  149 

Rising  to  my  knees,  I  stared  at  Joe,  who, 
kneeling  also,  stared  back  at  me,  both  keeping 
silence  for  a  few  seconds.     At  length  : 

"  Where  does  it  come  from,  Joe  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Joe  replied.  "  Mount  Lin- 
coln, perhaps.  But  I  do  know  where  it 
goes  to." 

''You  do?     Where?" 

"  Down  to  '  the  forty  rods,'  of  course." 

"  That's  it !  "  I  cried,  thumping  my  fist  into 
the  palm  of  the  other  hand.  "  That's  certainly 
it !  Look  here,  Joe.  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do. 
We'll  quit  hauling  rock  for  this  morning,  go  and 
get  a  long  rope,  climb  down  into  this  crack,  see 
how  much  water  there  is,  and  find  out  if  we  can 
where  it  goes  to." 

"  All  right,"  said  Joe.  "  Your  father  won't 
object,  I'm  sure." 

"  No,  he  won't  object.  Though  he  relies  on 
our  doing  a  good  day's  work  without  supervision, 
he  relies,  too,  on  our  using  our  common  sense, 
and  I'm  sure  he'll  agree  that  this  is  a  matter 
that  ought  to  be  investigated  without  delay.  It 
may  be  of  the  greatest  importance." 

"  All  right !  "  cried  Joe.  "  Then  let  us  get 
about  it  at  once  I  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Underground  Stream 

IT  was  on  a  Saturday  morning  that  we  made 
this  discovery,  and  as  my  father  and  mother 
had  both  driven  down  to  San  Remo  and  would 
not  be  back  till  sunset,  we  could  not  ask  per- 
mission to  abandon  our  regular  work  and  go  ex- 
ploring. But,  as  I  had  said  to  Joe,  though  he 
trusted  us  to  work  faithfully  at  any  task  we 
might  undertake,  my  father  also  expected  us  to 
use  our  own  discretion  in  any  matter  which 
might  turn  up  when  he  was  not  at  hand  to  ad- 
vise with  us. 

I  had,  therefore,  no  hesitation  in  driving  back 
to  the  ranch,  when,  having  unloaded  our  one 
stone  and  stabled  the  mules,  Joe  and  I,  taking 
with  us  a  long,  stout  rope  and  the  stable-lantern, 
retraced  our  steps  to  the  wildcat's  house. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  enlarge  the 
entrance  so  that  we  might  have  daylight  to  work 
by,  and  this  being  accomplished,  we  lighted  the 
lantern  and  lowered  it  by  a  cord  into  the  hole. 
We  found,  however,  that  a  bulge  in  the  rock 
150 


The  Underground  Stream  i  5 1 

prevented  our  seeing  to  the  bottom,  and  all  we 
gained  by  this  move  was  to  ascertain  that  the 
crevice  was  about  forty  feet  deep,  as  we  had 
guessed.  The  next  thing,  therefore,  was  for  one 
of  us  to  go  down,  and  the  only  way  to  do  this 
was  to  slide  down  a  rope. 

This,  doubtless,  would  be  easy  enough,  but  the 
climbing  up  again  might  be  another  matter. 
We  were  not  afraid  to  venture  on  this  score, 
however,  for,  as  it  happened,  we  had  both  often 
amused  ourselves  by  climbing  a  rope  hung  from 
one  of  the  rafters  in  the  hay-barn,  and  though 
that  was  a  climb  of  only  twenty  feet,  we  had 
done  it  so  often  and  so  easily  that  we  did  not 
question  our  ability  to  ascend  a  rope  of  double 
the  length. 

"  Who's  to  go  down,  Joe,  you  or  I  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Whichever  you  like,  Phil,"  replied  my  com- 
panion. "  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  be  the  first, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  that's  a  matter  of  course,"  I  an- 
swered, "  but  as  you  are  the  discoverer  you 
ought  to  have  first  chance,  so  down  you  go,  old 
chap  !  " 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Joe,  "  if  you  say  so, 
I'll  go." 


152       The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Well,  I  do— so  that  settles  it." 

I  knew  Joe  well  enough  to  be  sure  he  would 
be  eager  to  be  the  first,  and  though  I  should 
have  liked  very  much  to  take  the  lead  myself,  it 
seemed  to  me  only  just  that  Joe,  as  the  original 
discoverer,  should,  as  I  had  said,  be  given  the 
choice. 

This  question  being  decided,  we  tied  one  end 
of  the  rope  around  a  big  stone,  heavy  enough  to 
hold  an  elephant,  and  dropped  the  other  end 
into  the  hole.  The  descent  at  first  was  very 
easy,  for  the  walls  being  only  three  feet  apart, 
and  there  being  many  rough  projections  on 
either  side,  it  was  not  much  more  difficult  than 
going  down  a  ladder,  especially  as  I,  standing  a 
little  to  one  side,  lowered  the  lantern  bit  by  bit, 
that  Joe  might  have  a  light  all  the  time  to  see 
where  to  set  his  feet. 

Arrived  at  the  bulge,  Joe  stopped,  and  stand- 
ing with  one  foot  on  either  wall,  looked  up  and 
said  : 

"  It  opens  out  below  here,  Phil ;  I  shall  have 
to  slide  the  rest  of  the  way.  You  might  lower 
the  lantern  down  to  the  bottom  now,  if  you 
please." 

I  did  so  at  once,  and  then  asked : 


The   Underground  Stream  153 

"  Can  you  see  the  bottom,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  The  crevice  is  much 
wider  down  there,  and  the  floor  seems  to  be 
smooth  and  dry.  I  can't  see  any  sign  of  water 
anywhere,  but  I  can  hear  it  plainly  enough. 
Good-bye  for  the  present ;  I'm  going  down 
now." 

With  that  he  disappeared  under  the  bulge  in 
the  wall,  while  I,  placing  my  hand  upon  the 
rope,  presently  felt  the  strain  slacken,  whereupon 
I  called  out : 

"  All  right,  Joe  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  came  the  answer. 

"  How's  the  air  down  there  ?  " 

"  Seems  to  be  perfectly  fresh." 

"  Can  you  see  the  water?" 

"  No,  I  can't ;  but  I  can  hear  it.  There's  a 
heap  of  big  rocks  in  the  passage  to  the  south  and 
the  splashing  comes  from  the  other  side  of  it. 
I'm  going  to  untie  the  lantern,  Phil,  and  go  and 
explore  a  bit.     Just  wait  a  minute." 

Very  soon  I  heard  his  voice  again  calling  up 
to  me. 

"  It's  all  right,  Phil.  I've  found  the  water. 
You  may  as  well  come  down." 

''  Look  here,  Joe,"  I  replied.     "  Before  I  come 


154      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

down,  it  might  be  as  well  to  make  sure  that  you 
can  come  up." 

"  There's  something  in  that,"  said  Joe,  with  a 
laugh.     "  Well,  then,  I'll  come  up  first." 

I  felt  the  rope  tauten  again,  and  pretty  soon 
my  companion's  head  appeared,  when,  scram- 
bling over  the  bulge,  he  once  more  stood  astride 
of  the  crevice,  and  looking  up  said : 

"  It's  perfectly  safe,  Phil.  The  only  trouble- 
some bit  is  in  getting  over  the  bulge,  and  that 
doesn't  amount  to  anything.  It's  safe  enough 
for  you  to  come  down." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  come ;  so  go  on  down 
again." 

Taking  a  candle  we  had  brought  with  us,  I  set 
it  on  a  projection  where  it  would  cast  a  light  into 
the  fissure,  and  seizing  the  rope,  down  I  went. 
The  descent  was  perfectly  easy,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  I  found  myself  standing  beside  Joe  at 
the  bottom. 

The  crevice  down  here  was  much  wider  than 
above — ten  or  twelve  feet — the  floor,  composed 
of  sandstone,  having  a  decided  downward  tilt 
towards  the  south.  In  this  direction  Joe,  lan- 
tern in  hand,  led  the  way. 

Piled  up  in  the  passage  was  a  large  heap  of 


WE    SAW    BEFORE    US    A    VERY    CURIOUS    SIGHT' 


The  Underground  Stream  155 

lava-blocks  which  had  fallen,  presumably, 
through  the  opening  above,  and  climbing  over 
these,  we  saw  before  us  a  very  curious  sight. 

On  the  right  hand  side  of  the  crevice — that  is 
to  say,  on  the  western  or  Second  Mesa. side — be- 
tween the  sandstone  floor  and  the  lowest  ledge 
of  lava,  there  issued  a  thin  sheet  of  water, 
coming  out  with  such  force  that  it  swept  right 
across,  and  striking  the  opposite  wall,  turned 
and  ran  off  southward — away  from  us,  that  is. 
Only  for  a  short  distance,  however,  it  ran  in  that 
direction,  for  we  could  see  that  the  stream  pres- 
ently took  another  turn,  this  time  to  the  east- 
ward, presumably  finding  its  way  through  a 
crack  in  the  lava  of  the  First  Mesa. 

"  I'm  going  to  see  where  it  goes  to,"  cried  Joe  ; 
and  pulling  off  his  boots  and  rolling  up  his 
trousers,  he  waded  in.  He  expected  to  find  the 
water  as  cold  as  the  iced  water  of  any  other 
mountain  stream,  but  to  his  surprise  it  was 
quite  pleasantly  warm. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Phil,"  said  he,  step- 
ping back  again  for  a  moment.  "  This  water 
must  run  under  ground  for  a  long  distance  to  be 
as  warm  as  it  is.  And  what's  more,  there  must  be 
a  good-sized  reservoir  somewhere  between  the  lava 


156      The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

and  the  sandstone  to  furnish  pressure  enough  to 
make  the  water  squirt  out  so  viciously  as  it 
does." 

Entering  the  stream  again,  which,  though 
hardly  an  inch  deep,  came  out  of  the  rock  with 
such  "  vim  "  that  when  it  struck  his  feet  it  flew 
up  nearly  to  his  knees,  Joe  waded  through,  and 
then  turning,  shouted  to  me  : 

"  It  goes  down  this  way,  Phil,  through  a  big 
crack  in  the  lava.  It  just  goes  flying.  Don't 
trouble  to  come  " — observing  that  I  was  about  to 
pull  off"  my  own  boots — "  you  can't  see  any  dis- 
tance down  the  crack." 

But  whatever  there  was  to  be  seen,  I  wanted 
to  see  too,  and  disregarding  his  admonition,  I 
pretty  soon  found  myself  standing  beside  my 
companion. 

The  great  cleft  into  which  we  were  peering 
was  about  six  feet  wide  at  the  bottom,  coming 
together  some  twenty  feet  above  our  heads,  hav- 
ing been  apparently  widened  at  the  base  by  the 
action  of  the  water,  which,  being  here  ankle- 
deep,  rushed  foaming  over  and  around  the  many 
blocks  of  lava  with  which  the  channel  was  encum- 
bered. As  far  as  we  could  see,  the  fissure  led 
straight  away  without  a  bend  ;  and  Joe  was  for 


The  Underground  Stream  157 

trying  to  walk  down  it  at  once.  I  suggested, 
however,  that  we  leave  that  for  the  present  and 
try  another  plan. 

"  Look  here,  Joe,"  said  I.  "  If  we  try  to  do 
that  we  shall  probably  get  pretty  wet,  and  stand 
a  good  chance  besides  of  hurting  our  feet  among 
the  rocks.  Now,  I  propose  that  we  go  down  to 
the  ranch  again,  get  our  rubber  boots,  and  at  the 
same  time  bring  back  with  us  my  father's  com- 
pass and  the  tape-measure  and  try  to  survey  this 
water-course.  By  doing  that,  and  then  by  fol- 
lowing the  same  line  on  the  surface,  we  may  be 
able  to  decide  whether  it  is  really  this  stream 
which  keeps  *  the  forty  rods '  so  wet." 

"  I  don't  think  there  can  be  any  doubt  about 
that,"  Joe  replied  ;  ''  but  I  think  your  plan  is  a 
good  one,  all  the  same,  so  let  us  do  it." 

We  did  not  waste  much  time  in  getting  down 
to  the  ranch  and  back  again,  when,  pulling  on 
our  rubber  boots,  we  proceeded  to  make  our  sur- 
vey.    It  was  not  an  easy  task. 

With  the  ring  at  the  end  of  the  tape-measure 
hooked  over  my  little  finger,  I  took  a  candle  in 
that  hand  and  the  compass  in  the  other,  and 
having  ascertained  that  the  course  of  the  stream 
was  due  southeast,  I  told  Joe  to  go  ahead.     My 


158       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

partner,  therefore,  with  his  arm  slipped  through 
the  handle  of  the  lantern  and  with  a  pole  in  his 
hand  with  which  to  test  the  depth  of  the  stream, 
thereupon  started  down  the  passage,  stepping 
from  rock  to  rock  when  possible,  and  taking  to 
the  water  when  the  rocks  were  too  far  apart,  un- 
til, having  reached  the  limit  of  the  tape-meas- 
ure, he  made  a  mark  upon  the  wall  with  a  piece 
of  white  chalk. 

This  being  done,  I  noted  on  a  bit  of  paper  the 
direction  and  the  distance,  when  Joe  advanced 
once  more,  I  following  as  far  as  to  the  chalk- 
mark,  when  the  operation  was  repeated. 

In  this  manner  we  worked  our  way,  slowly 
and  carefully,  down  the  passage,  the  direction 
of  which  varied  only  two  or  three  degrees  to  one 
side  or  the  other  of  southeast,  until,  having  ad- 
vanced a  little  more  than  a  thousand  feet,  we 
found  our  further  progress  barred. 

For  some  time  it  had  appeared  to  us  that  the 
sound  of  splashing  water  was  increasing  in  dis- 
tinctness, though  the  stream  itself  made  so  much 
noise  in  that  hollow  passage  that  we  could  not 
be  sure  whether  we  were  right  or  not.  At 
length,  however,  having  made  his  twentieth 
chalk-mark,  indicating  one  thousand  feet,  Joe, 


The  Underground  Stream  159 

waving  his  lantern  for  me  to  come  on,  advanced 
once  more ;  but  before  I  had  come  to  his  last 
mark,  he  stopped  and  shouted  back  to  me  that 
he  could  go  no  farther. 

Wondering  why  not,  I  slowly  Avaded  forward, 
Joe  himself  winding  up  the  tape-measure  as  I 
approached,  until  I  found  myself  standing  beside 
my  companion,  when  I  saw  at  once  *'  why  not." 

The  stream  here  took  a  sudden  dive  down  hill, 
falling  about  three  feet  into  a  large  pool,  the 
limits  of  which  we  could  not  discern — for  we 
could  see  neither  sides  nor  end — its  surface  un- 
broken, except  in  a  few  places  where  we  could 
detect  the  ragged  points  of  big  lava-blocks  pro- 
jecting above  the  water,  while  here  and  there  a 
rounded  boulder  showed  its  smooth  and  shining 
head. 

Joe,  very  carefully  descending  to  the  edge  of 
the  pool,  measured  the  depth  with  his  rod,  when, 
finding  it  to  be  about  four  feet  deep,  we  con- 
cluded that  we  would  let  well  enough  alone  and 
end  our  survey  at  this  point. 

"  Come  on  up,  Joe,"  I  called  out.  "  No  use 
trying  to  go  any  farther  :  it's  too  dangerous  ;  we 
might  get  in  over  our  heads." 

"  Just  a  minute,"  Joe  replied.     "  Let's  see  if 


i6o      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

we  can't  find  out  which  way  the  current  sets  in 
the  pooL" 

With  that  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  news- 
paper he  had  brought  with  him  in  case  for  any 
purpose  we  should  need  to  make  a  "  flare,"  and 
crumpling  this  into  a  loose  ball  he  set  it  afloat 
in  the  pool.  Away  it  sailed,  quickly  at  first, 
and  then  more  slowly  ;  and  taking  a  sight  on  it 
as  far  as  it  was  distinguishable,  I  found  that  the 
set  of  the  current  continued  as  before — due 
southeast. 

"  All  right,  Joe,"  I  cried.  "  Come  on,  now." 
And  Joe,  giving  me  the  end  of  his  stick  to  take 
hold  of,  quickly  rejoined  me,  when  together  we 
made  our  way  carefully  up  the  stream  again, 
and  climbing  the  rope,  once  more  found  our- 
selves out  in  the  daylight. 

"  Now,  Joe,"  said  I,  "  let  us  run  our  line  and 
find  out  where  it  takes  us." 

Having  previously  measured  the  distance  from 
the  point  where  the  underground  stream  turned 
southeast  to  where  the  rope  hung  down,  we  now 
measured  the  same  distance  back  again  along 
the  foot  of  the  bluff*,  and  thence,  ourselves  turn- 
ing southeastward,  we  measured  off*  a  thousand 
feet.     This  brought  us  down  to  the  lowest  of  the 


The  Underground  Stream  i6i 

old  lake-benches,  about  a  hundred  yards  back 
of  the  house,  when,  sighting  along  the  same  line 
with  the  compass,  we  found  that  that  faithful 
little  servant  pointed  us  straight  to  the  entrance 
of  the  lower  caiion. 

"  Then  that  does  settle  it ! "  cried  Joe. 
"  We've  found  the  stream  that  keeps  '  the  forty 
rods  '  wet ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  it." 

It  did,  indeed  seem  certain  that  we  had  at 
last  discovered  the  stream  which  supplied  "  the 
forty  rods  "  with  water  ;  but  allowing  that  we 
had  discovered  it : — what  then  ?  How  much 
better  off  were  we  ? 

Beneath  our  feet,  as  we  had  now  every  reason 
to  believe,  ran  the  long-sought  water-course,  but 
between  us  and  it  was  a  solid  bed  of  lava  about 
forty  feet  thick  ;  and  how  to  get  the  water  to  the 
surface,  and  thus  prevent  it  from  continuing  to 
render  useless  the  meadow  below,  was  a  problem 
beyond  our  powers. 

"  It  beats  me,"  said  Joe,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
tousling  his  hair  according  to  custom.  "  I  can 
see  no  possible  way  of  doing  it.  We  shall  have 
to  leave  it  to  your  father.  Perhaps  he  may  be 
able  to  think  of  a  plan.  Do  you  suppose  he'll 
venture  to  go  down  the  rope,  Phil  ?  " 


1 62       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basi 


in 


"  No,  I  don't,"  I  replied.  "  It  is  all  very  well 
for  you  and  me,  with  our  one  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds,  or  thereabouts,  but  as  my  father 
weighs  forty  pounds  more  than  either  of  us,  and 
has  not  been  in  the  habit  of  climbing  ropes  for 
amusement  as  long  as  I  can  remember,  I  think 
the  chances  are  that  he  won't  try  it." 

"  I  suppose  not.  It's  a  pity,  though,  for  I'm 
sure  he  would  be  tremendously  interested  to  see 
the  stream  down  there  in  the  crevice.     Couldn't 

we Look  here,  Phil  :  couldn't  we  set  up  a 

ladder  to  reach  from  the  bottom  up  to  the  bulge?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  I  answered.  "  It  would 
take  a  ladder  twenty  feet  long,  and  the  bulge  in 
the  wall  would  prevent  its  going  down." 

"  That's  true.  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what 
we  can  do.  We'll  make  two  ladders  of  ten  feet 
each — a  ten-foot  pole  will  go  down  easily  enough 
— set  one  on  the  floor  of  the  crevice  and  the  other 
on  that  wide  ledge  about  half  way  up  to  the 
bulge.     What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  could  do  that,"  I  replied. 
"  We'll  try  it  anyhow.  But  we  must  go  in  and 
get  some  dinner  now :  it's  close  to  noon." 

We  did  not  take  long  over  our  dinner — we 


The  Underground  Stream  163 

were  too  anxious  to  get  to  work  again — and  as 
soon  as  we  had  finished  we  selected  from  our 
supply  of  fire-wood  four  straight  poles,  each 
about  ten  feet  long,  and  with  these,  a  number 
of  short  pieces  of  six-inch  plank,  a  hammer,  a  saw 
and  a  bag  of  nails,  we  drove  back  to  the  scene  of 
action. 

Even  a  ten-foot  pole,  we  found,  was  an  awk- 
ward thing  to  get  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
fissure,  but  after  a  good  deal  of  coaxing  we  suc- 
ceeded in  lowering  them  all,  when  we  at  once 
set  to  work  building  our  ladders. 

The  first  one,  standing  on  the  floor  of  the 
crevice,  reached  as  high  as  the  ledge  Joe  had 
mentioned,  while  the  second,  planted  upon  the 
ledge  itself,  leaned  across  the  chasm,  its  upper 
end  resting  against  the  rock  just  below  the  bulge, 
so  that,  with  the  rope  to  hold  on  by,  it  ought  to  be 
easy  enough  to  get  up  and  down.  It  is  true  that 
the  second  ladder  being  almost  perpendicular, 
looked  a  little  precarious,  but  we  had  taken  great 
care  to  set  it  up  solidly  and  were  certain  it  could 
not  slip.  As  to  the  strength  of  the  ladders,  there 
was  nothing  to  fear  on  that  score,  for  the  smallest 
of  the  poles  was  five  inches  in  diameter  at  the 
little  end. 


164      The   Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

This  work  took  us  so  long,  for  we  were  very- 
careful  to  make  things  strong  and  firm,  that 
it  was  within  half  an  hour  of  sunset  ere  we  had 
finished,  and  as  it  was  then  too  late  to  begin  haul- 
ing rocks,  we  drove  down  to  the  ranch  again  at 
once. 

As  we  came  within  sight  of  the  house,  we  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  buggy  with  my  father 
and  mother  in  it  draw  up  at  the  door.  Observ- 
ing us  coming,  they  waited  for  us,  when,  the 
moment  we  jumped  out  of  the  wagon,  before  we 
could  say  a  word  ourselves,  my  father  exclaimed  : 

"  Hallo,  boys  !  What  are  you  wearing  your 
rubber  boots  for  ?  " 

My  mother,  however,  looking  at  our  faces  in- 
stead of  at  our  feet,  with  that  quickness  of  vision 
most  mothers  of  boys  seem  to  possess,  saw  at 
once  that  something  unusual  had  occurred. 

"  What's  happened,  Phil  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  We've  made  a  discovery,"  I  replied,  "  and  Ave 
want  father  to  come  and  see  it." 

"  Can't  I  come,  too  ?  "  she  inquired,  smiling  at 
my  eagerness. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  I  answered.  "  I  wish  you 
could,  but  I'm  afraid  your  petticoats  would  get 
in  the  way." 


The  Underground  Stream  165 

To  this,  perceiving  easily  enough  that  we  had 
some  surprise  in  store  for  my  father,  and  not 
wishing  to  spoil  the  fun,  my  mother  merely 
replied  : 

"  Oh,  would  they  ?  Well,  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't 
come  anyhow  :  I  must  go  in  and  prepare  sup- 
per. So,  be  off  with  you  at  once,  and  don't 
be  late.  You  can  tell  me  all  about  it  this  even- 
ing." 

"  One  minute,  father !  "  I  cried  ;  and  there- 
upon I  ran  to  the  house,  reappearing  in  a  few 
seconds  with  his  rubber  boots,  which  I  thrust 
into  the  back  of  the  buggy,  and  then,  climbing 
in  on  one  side  while  Joe  scrambled  in  on  the 
other,  I  called  out : 

"  Now,  father,  go  ahead  !  " 

"Where  to?"  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,"  said  I.  "  Up  to  our  stone- 
quarry." 

If  we  had  expected  my  father  to  be  surprised, 
we  were  not  disappointed.  At  first  he  rather 
demurred  at  going  down  our  carefully  prepared 
ladders,  not  seeing  sufficient  reason,  as  he  de- 
clared, to  risk  his  neck  ;  but  the  moment  we 
called  his  attention  to  the  sound  of  water  down 
below,  and   he  began   to  understand  what  the 


1 66      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

presence  of  the  rubber  boots  meant,  he  became 
as  eager  as  either  Joe  or  I  had  been. 

In  short,  he  went  with  us  over  the  whole 
ground,  even  down  to  the  pool ;  and  so  interested 
was  he  in  the  matter  that  he  quite  forgot  the 
flight  of  time,  until,  having  reascended  the 
ladders  and  followed  with  us  our  line  on  the  sur- 
face down  to  the  heap  of  stones  with  which  we  had 
marked  the  thousand-foot  point,  he — and  we, 
too — were  recalled  to  our  duties  by  my  mother, 
who,  seeing  us  standing  there  talking,  came  to 
the  back-door  of  the  kitchen  and  called  to  us  to 
come  in  at  once  if  we  wanted  any  supper. 

Long  was  the  discussion  that  ensued  that 
evening  as  we  sat  around  the  fire  in  the  big 
stone  fireplace  ;  but  long  as  it  was,  it  ended  as 
it  had  begun  with  a  remark  made  b}^  my  father. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  crossed  his  slippered  feet  before  the 
fire,  "  it  appears  to  come  to  this  :  instead  of  dis- 
covering a  way  to  drain  '  the  forty  rods,'  you 
have  only  provided  us  with  another  insoluble 
problem  to  puzzle  our  heads  over.  There  seems 
to  be  no  way  that  we  can  figure  out — at  present, 
anyhow — by  which  the  water  can  be  brought  to 
the  surface,  and  consequently  our  only  resource 


The  Underground  Stream  167 

is,  apparently,  to  discover,  if  possible,  where  it 
first  runs  in  under  the  lava-bed,  to  come  squirt- 
ing out  again  down  in  that  fissure — an  almost 
hopeless  task,  I  fear." 

"  It  does  look  pretty  hopeless,"  Joe  assented  ; 
"  though  we  have  found  out  one  thing,  at  least, 
which  may  be  of  service  in  our  search,  and  that 
is  that  the  water  runs  between  the  lava  and  the 
sandstone.  That  fact  should  be  of  some  help  to 
us,  for  it  removes  from  the  list  of  streams  to  be 
examined  all  those  whose  beds  lie  below  the 
sandstone." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  I  agreed.  "  But,  then 
again,  the  source  may  not  be  some  mountain 
stream  running  off  under  the  lava,  as  we  have 
been  supposing.  It  is  quite  possible  that  it  is  a 
spring  which  comes  up  through  the  sandstone, 
and  not  being  able  to  get  up  to  daylight  because 
of  the  lava-cap,  goes  worming  its  way  through 
innumerable  crevices  to  the  underground  reser- 
voir we  suppose  to  exist  somewhere  beneath  the 
surface  of  the  Second  Mesa." 

"  That  is  certainly  a  possibility,"  replied  my 
father.  "  Nevertheless,  it  is  my  opinion  that  it 
will  be  well  worth  while  making  an  examina- 
tion of   the   creeks   on   Mount   Lincoln.     The 


1 68      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

streams  to  search  would  be  those  running  on  a 
sandstone  bed  and  coming  against  the  upper 
face  of  the  lava-flow.  It  is  worth  the  attempt, 
at  least,  and  when  the  snow  clears  off  you  boys 
shall  employ  any  off'-days  you  may  have  in  that 
way." 

"  It  would  be  well,  wouldn't  it,  to  tell  Tom 
Connor  about  it?"  suggested  Joe.  "He  would 
keep  his  eyes  open  for  us.  I  suppose  prospectors 
as  a  rule  don't  take  much  note  of  such  things, 
but  Tom  would  do  so,  I'm  sure,  if  we  asked 
him." 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  father.  "  That  is  a  good 
idea ;  and  if  either  of  you  should  come  across 
your  friend,  the  hermit,  again,  be  sure  to  ask 
him.  He  knows  Mount  Lincoln  as  nobody  else 
does,  and  if  he  had  ever  noticed  anything  of  the 
sort  he  would  tell  us.  Don't  forget  that.  And 
now  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  X 
How  Tom  Connor  Went  Boring  for  Oil 

ONE  thing  was  plain  at  any  rate  :  we  could 
do  nothing  towards  finding  the  source  of 
the  underground  stream  until  the  snow  cleared 
off  the  mountain,  and  that  was  likely  to  be  later 
than  usual  this  year,  for  the  fall  had  been  ex- 
ceedingly heavy  in  the  higher  parts.  We  could 
see  from  the  ranch  that  many  of  the  familiar 
hollows  were  obliterated — leveled  off  by  the 
great  masses  of  snow  which  had  drifted  into 
them  and  filled  them  up. 

We  therefore  went  about  our  work  of  hauling 
stone,  and  so  continued  while  the  cold  weather 
lasted,  interrupted  only  once  by  a  heavy  storm 
about  the  end  of  January,  which,  while  it  added 
another  two  feet  to  the  thick  blanket  of  snow  al- 
ready covering  the  mountains,  quickly  melted 
off  down  in  the  snug  hollow  where  the  ranch  lay, 
so  that  our  work  was  not  delayed  more  than  two 
or  three  days. 

One  advantage  to  us  of  this  storm  was  that  it 
169 


lyo      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

enabled  us  to  learn  something— not  much,  cer- 
tainly, but  still  something — regarding  the  source 
of  the  stream  in  the  fissure.  It  did  not  show  us 
where  that  source  was,  but  it  proved  to  us  pretty 
clearly  where  it  was  not. 

On  the  morning  of  the  storm,  Joe,  at  break- 
fast-time, turning  to  my  father,  said : 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  plan  to  go  and  meas- 
ure the  flow  of  the  water  down  in  the  crevice, 
Mr.  Crawford  ?  We  might  be  able  to  find  out, 
by  watching  its  rise  and  fall,  whether  the  melt- 
ing of  the  snow  on  the  Second  Mesa,  or  on  the 
foot-hills  beyond,  or  on  the  mountain  itself 
afiects  it  most." 

''  That's  a  very  good  idea,  Joe,"  my  father  re- 
plied. "  Yes  ;  as  soon  as  we  have  fed  the  stock 
you  can  make  a  measuring-stick  and  go  up  there  ; 
and  what's  more,  you  had  better  make  a  practice 
of  measuring  it  every  day.  The  increase  or  de- 
crease of  the  flow  might  be  an  important  guide 
as  to  where  it  comes  from." 

This  we  did,  and  thereby  ascertained  pretty 
conclusively  that  the  source  was  nowhere  on  the 
Second  Mesa,  for  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of 
wrecks  the  heavy  fall  of  new  snow  covering  that 
wide    stretch    of    country   melted   off  without 


Boring  for  Oil  171 

making  any  perceptible  difference  in  the  volume 
of  the  stream. 

Though  there  were  several  other  falls  of  snow 
up  in  the  mountains  later  in  the  season,  this  was 
the  last  one  of  any  consequence  down  on  the 
mesas.  The  winter  was  about  over  as  far  as  we 
were  concerned,  and  by  the  middle  of  the  next 
month,  the  surface  of  "  the  bottomless  forty 
rods  "  beginning  to  soften  again,  the  freighters, 
who  had  been  coming  our  way  ever  since  the 
early  part  of  November,  deserted  us  and  once  more 
went  back  to  the  hill  road — to  our  mutual  regret. 
For  a  few  days  longer  the  stage-coach  kept  to 
our  road,  but  very  soon  it,  too,  abandoned  us, 
after  which,  except  for  an  occasional  horseback- 
rider,  we  had  scarcely  a  passer-by. 

As  was  natural,  we  greatly  missed  this  constant 
coming  and  going,  though  we  should  have  missed 
it  a  good  deal  more  but  for  the  fact  that  with  the 
softening  of  the  ground  our  spring  work  began, 
when,  Marsden's  cattle  having  been  removed  by 
their  owner,  Joe  and  I  started  plowing  for  oats. 
With  the  prospect  of  a  steady  season's  work  be- 
fore us,  we  entered  upon  our  labors  with  en- 
thusiasm. We  had  never  felt  so  "  fit "  before, 
for  our  long  spell  of  stone-hauling  had  put  us 


172      The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

into  such  good  trim  that  we  were  in  condition 
to  tackle  anything. 

At  the  same  time,  we  did  not  forget  our  un- 
derground stream,  keeping  strict  watch  upon  it 
as  the  snow-line  retreated  up  the  foot-hills  of 
Mount  Lincoln.  But  though  one  of  us  visited 
the  stream  every  day,  taking  careful  measure- 
ment of  the  flow,  we  could  not  see  that  it  had 
increased  at  all.  The  intake  must  be  either 
high  on  the  mountain,  or,  as  I  had  suggested, 
the  spring  must  come  up  through  the  sandstone 
underlying  the  Second  Mesa  and  was  therefore 
not  affected  by  the  running  off  of  the  snow- 
water on  the  surface. 

As  the  town  of  Sulphide  was  so  situated  that 
its  inhabitants  could  not  see  Mount  Lincoln  on 
account  of  a  big  spur  of  Elkhorn  Mountain 
which  cut  off  their  view,  any  one  in  that  town 
wishing  to  find  out  how  the  snow  was  going  off 
on  the  former  mountain  was  obliged  to  ride 
down  in  our  direction  about  three  miles  in  order 
to  get  a  sight  of  it. 

Tom  Connor,  having  neither  the  time  to  spare 
nor  the  money  to  spend  on  horse-hire,  could  not 
do  this  for  himself,  but,  knowing  that  the  moun- 
tain was  visible  to  us  any  day  and  all  day,  he 


Boring  for  Oil  173 

had  requested  us  to  notify  him  when  the  foot- 
hills began  to  get  bare.  This  time  had  now  ar- 
rived— it  was  then  towards  the  end  of  March — 
and  m\^  father  consequently  wrote  to  Tom,  tell- 
ing him  so ;  at  the  same  time  inviting  him  to 
come  down  to  us  and  make  his  start  from  the 
ranch  whenever  he  was  ready. 

To  our  great  surprise,  we  received  a  reply  from 
him  next  afternoon,  brought  down  by  young 
Seth  Appleby,  the  widow  Appleby's  ten-year-old 
boy,  in  which  he  stated  that  he  could  not  start 
just  yet  as  he  was  out  of  funds,  but  that  he  was 
hoping  to  raise  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  by 
a  mortgage  on  his  little  house,  which  would  be 
all  he  would  need,  and  more,  to  keep  him  going 
for  the  summer. 

"  Why,  what's  the  meaning  of  this ! "  ex- 
claimed my  father,  when  he  had  read  the  letter. 
"  How  does  Tom  come  to  be  out  of  funds  at  this 
time  of  year  ?  He's  been  at  work  all  winter  at 
high  wages  and  he  ought  to  have  saved  up  quite 
a  tidy  sum — in  fact,  he  was  counting  on  doing 
so.  What's  the  matter,  I  wonder  ?  Did  he  tell 
you  anything  about  it,  Seth?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  youngster,  "  he  didn't  tell 
me,  but  he  did  tell  mother,  and  then  mother, 


174      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

she  asked  all  the  miners  who  come  to  our  store, 
and  they  told  her  all  about  it.  It  was  mother 
that  sent  me  down  with  th.e  letter,  and  she  told 
me  I  was  to  be  sure  and  'splain  all  about  it  to 
you." 

"  That  was  kind  of  Mrs.  Appleby,"  said  my 
father.  "  But  come  in,  Seth,  and  have  some- 
thing to  eat,  and  then  you  can  give  us  your 
mother's  message." 

Seated  at  the  table,  with  a  big  loaf,  a  plate  of 
honey  and  a  pitcher  of  milk  before  him,  young 
Seth,  after  he  had  taken  off  the  fine  edge  of  a 
remarkably  healthy  appetite,  related  to  us  be- 
tween bites  the  story  he  had  been  sent  down  to 
tell.  It  was  a  long  and  complicated  story  as  he 
told  it,  and  even  when  it  was  finished  we  could 
not  be  quite  sure  that  we  had  it  right ;  but  sup- 
posing that  we  had,  it  came  to  this : 

Tom  had  worked  faithfully  on  the  Pelican, 
never  having  missed  a  day,  and  had  earned  a 
very  considerable  sum  of  money,  of  which  he 
had,  with  commendable — and,  for  him,  unusual 
— discretion,  invested  the  greater  part  in  a  little 
house,  putting  by  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
for  his  own  use  during  the  coming  summer. 
The  fund  reserved  would  have  been  sufficient  to 


Boring  for  Oil  175 

see  him  through  the  prospecting  season  had  he 
stuck  to  it;  but  this  was  just  what  he  had  not 
done. 

Two  years  before,  a  friend  of  his  had  been 
killed  in  one  of  the  mines  by  that  most  frequent 
of  accidents  :  picking  out  a  missed  shot ;  since 
which  time  the  widow,  a  bustling,  hearty  Irish- 
woman, had  supported  herself  and  her  five  chil- 
dren. But  during  the  changeable  weather  of 
early  spring,  Mrs.  Murphy  had  been  taken  down 
with  a  severe  attack  of  pneumonia — a  disease 
particularly  dangerous  at  high  altitudes — and 
distress  reigned  in  the  family.  As  a  matter  of 
course,  Tom,  ever  on  the  lookout  to  do  some- 
body a  good  turn,  at  once  hopped  in  and  took 
charge  of  everything  ;  providing  a  doctor  and  a 
nurse  for  his  old  friend's  widow,  and  seeing  that 
the  children  wanted  for  nothing  ;  and  all  with 
such  success  that  he  brought  his  patient  tri- 
umphantly out  of  her  sickness ;  while  as  for 
himself,  when  he  modestly  retired  from  the 
fray,  he  found  that  he  was  just  as  poor  as  he 
had  been  at  the  beginning  of  winter. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  this 
worried  Tom.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  was  unlucky, 
of  course,  but  as  it  could  not  be  helped  there 


176      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

was  no  more  to  be  said  ;  and  so  long  as  he 
owned  that  house  of  his  he  could  always  raise 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  on  it — it  was 
worth  three  or  four  times  as  much,  at  least. 

As  the  prospecting  season  was  now  approach- 
ing, he  therefore  let  it  be  known  that  he  desired 
to  raise  this  money,  and  then  quietly  went  on 
with  his  work  again,  feeling  confident  that 
some  one  would  presently  make  his  appearance, 
cash  in  hand,  anxious  to  secure  so  good  a  loan. 
Up  to  that  morning,  Seth  believed,  the  expected 
capitalist  had  not  turned  up. 

As  the  boy  finished  his  story,  and — with  a 
sigh  at  having  reached  his  capacity — his  meal 
as  well,  my  father  rose  from  his  chair,  exclaim- 
ing : 

"  What  a  good  fellow  that  is  !  When  it  comes 
to  practical  charity,  Tom  Connor  leads  us  all. 
In  fact,  he  is  in  a  class  by  himself: — There  is  no 
Tom  but  Tom,  and  " — smiling  at  the  little  mes- 
senger— "  Seth  Appleby  is  his  prophet — on  this 
occasion." 

At  which  Seth  opened  his  eyes,  wondering 
what  on  earth  my  father  was  talking  about. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  the  latter 
continued.    "  Seth  says  his  mother  wants  another 


Boring  for  Oil  177 

thousand  pounds  of  potatoes  ;  so  you  shall  take 
them  up  this  afternoon,  Phil  ;  have  a  good 
talk  with  her ;  find  out  the  rights  of  this  mat- 
ter ;  and  then,  if  there  is  anything  we  can  do  to 
help,  we  can  do  it  understandingly." 

I  was  very  glad  to  do  this,  and  with  Seth  on 
the  seat  beside  me  and  his  pony  tied  behind  the 
wagon,  away  I  went. 

As  I  had  permission  to  stay  in  town  over 
night  if  I  liked,  and  as  Mrs.  Appleby  urged  me 
to  do  so,  saying  that  I  could  share  Seth's  room, 
I  decided  to  accept  her  offer,  and  after  supper 
we  were  seated  in  the  store  talking  over  Tom 
Connor's  affairs — which  I  found  to  be  just  about 
as  Seth  had  described  them — when  who  should 
burst  in  upon  us  but  Tom  himself.  Evidently 
my  presence  was  a  surprise  to  him,  for  on  seeing 
me  he  exclaimed  : 

''  Hallo,  Phil !  You  here  !  Got  my  message, 
did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  we  got  it  all  right ;  and 
very  much  astonished  we  were." 

Forthwith  I  tackled  him  on  the  subject,  and 
though  at  first  Tom  was  disposed  to  be  evasive 
in  his  answers,  finding  that  I  had  all  the  facts, 
he  at  length  admitted  the  truth  of  the  story. 


178       The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  But,  bless  you  !  "  cried  he.  "  That's  noth- 
ing. I  can  raise  a  hundred  and  fifty  easy  enough 
on  my  house  and  pay  it  off  again  next  winter, 
so  there's  nothing  to  fuss  about.  And  now, 
ma'am,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Appleby,  and  abruptly 
cutting  off  any  further  discussion  of  the  topic, 
"  now,  ma'am,  I'll  give  you  a  little  order  for 
groceries,  if  you  please — which  was  what  I  came 
in  for." 

So  saying,  he  took  a  scrap  of  paper  out  of  his 
pocket  and  proceeded  to  read  out  item  after 
item  :  flour  and  bacon,  molasses  and  dried  ap- 
ples, a  little  tea  and  a  great  deal  of  coffee,  and 
so  on,  and  so  on,  until  at  last  he  crumpled 
up  his  list  between  his  two  big  hands,  say- 
ing: 

"  There  !  And  we'll  top  off  with  a  gallon  of 
coal  oil,  if  you  please." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  widow,  laying  down  her  pen- 
cil— she  was  a  slight,  nervous  little  woman — 
"  I  was  afraid  you'd  come  to  coal  oil  presently. 
I  haven't  a  pint  of  it  in  the  house." 

"  Well,  that's  a  pity,"  said  her  customer. 
"  Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  down  to  Yet- 
more's  for  coal  oil  after  all." 

"  Yes,  Yetmore  can  let  you  have  it,  I  know," 


Boring  for  Oil  179 

replied  the  widow,  in  a  tone  of  voice  which 
caused  us  both  to  look  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  He's  got  a  barrel  of  it,"  she  continued.  "  A 
whole  barrel  of  it — belonging  to  me." 

"  Eh  !  What's  that  ?  "  cried  Tom.  "  Belong- 
ing to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  he  won't  give  it  up.  You  see,  it 
was  this  way.  I  ordered  a  barrel  from  the 
wholesale  people  in  San  Remo,  and  they  sent  it 
up  two  days  ago.  Here's  the  bill  of  lading. 
'  One  barrel  coal  oil,  No.  668,  by  Slaughter's 
freight  line.'  The  freighters  made  a  mistake 
and  delivered  it  at  Yetmore's,  and  now  he  won't 
give  it  up." 

"  Won't,  eh  !  "  cried  Tom,  with  sudden  heat. 
"  We'll  just  look  into  that." 

"  It's  no  use,"  interposed  Mrs.  Appleby,  hold- 
ing up  her  hand  deprecatingly.  "  You  can't 
take  it  by  force ;  and  I've  tried  persuasion. 
He's  got  my  barrel ;  there's  no  mistake  about 
that,  because  Seth  went  down  and  identified  the 
number ;  but  he  says  he  ordered  a  barrel  him- 
self from  the  same  firm  and  it  isn't  his  fault  if 
they  didn't  put  the  right  number  on." 

'*  Well,  that's  coming  it  pretty  strong,"  said 
Tom,  indignantly. 


i8o      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Yes,  and  it's  hard  on  me,"  replied  the  widow, 
"  because  people  come  in  here  for  coal  oil, 
and  when  they  find  I  haven't  any  they  go  off  to 
Yetmore's,  and  of  course  he  gets  the  rest  of  their 
order.  I  might  go  to  law,"  she  added,  "  but  I 
can't  afford  that ;  and  by  the  time  my  case  was 
settled  Yetmore's  barrel  will  have  arrived  and 
he'll  send  it  over  here  and  pretend  to  be  sorry 
for  the  mistake." 

''  I  see.  Well,  ma'am,  you  put  me  down  for  a 
gallon  of  coal  oil  just  the  same,  and  get  my 
order  together  as  soon  as  you  like,  I'm  going 
out  now  to  take  a  bit  of  a  stroll  around 
town." 

Though  he  spoke  calmly,  the  big  miner  was, 
in  fact,  swelling  with  wrath  at  the  widow's  tale 
of  petty  tyranny.  Without  saying  a  word  more 
to  her,  and  forgetting  my  existence,  apparently, 
he  marched  off  down  the  street  with  the  de- 
termination of  going  into  Yetmore's  and  de- 
nouncing the  storekeeper  before  his  customers. 
But,  no  sooner  had  he  come  within  sight  of  the 
store  than  he  suddenly  changed  his  mind. 

"  Ho,  ho ! "  he  laughed,  stopping  short  and 
shoving  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  "  Ho, 
ho  !     Here's  a  game !     He  keeps  it  in  the  back 


Boring  for  Oil  i8t 

end  of  the  store,  I  know.  I'll  just  meander  in 
and  prospect  a  bit." 

The  store  was  a  long,  plainly-constructed  build- 
ing, such  as  may  be  seen  in  plenty  in  any  Colo- 
rado mining  camp,  standing  on  the  hillside  with 
its  back  to  the  creek.  In  front  its  foundation 
was  level  with  the  street,  but  in  the  rear  it  was 
supported  upon  posts  four  feet  high,  leaving  a 
large  vacant  space  beneath — a  favorite  "  roost- 
ing" place  for  pigs.  It  was  the  sight  of  these 
four-foot  posts  which  caused  the  widow's  cham- 
pion so  suddenly  to  change  his  mind. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Tom  Connor,  in  spite  of  his 
forty  years,  was  no  more  than  an  overgrown 
boy,  in  whose  simple  character  the  love  of 
justice  and  the  love  of  fun  jostled  each  other  for 
first  place.  He  believed  he  had  discovered  an 
opportunity  to  "  take  a  rise "  out  of  Yetmore 
and  at  the  same  time  to  compel  the  misappro- 
priator of  other  people's  goods  to  restore  the 
widow's  property.  That  the  contemplated  act 
might  savor  of  illegality  did  not  trouble  him — 
did  not  occur  to  him,  in  fact.  He  was  sure  that 
he  had  justice  on  his  side,  and  that  was  enough 
for  him. 

Full  of  his  idea,  Tom  walked  into  the  store. 


t82      The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

where  he  found  Yetmore  very  busy  serving  cus- 
tomers, for  it  was  near  closing  time,  and  to  an 
inquiry  as  to  what  he  wanted,  he  replied : 

"  Nothing  just  now,  thank  ye.  I'll  just  mosey 
around  and  take  a  look  at  things." 

To  this  Yetmore  nodded  assent ;  for  though 
he  and  the  miner  had  no  affection  for  each 
other,  they  were  outwardly  on  good  terms,  and 
it  was  no  unusual  thing  for  Tom  to  come  into 
the  store. 

Connor  ''  moseyed  "  accordingly,  and  kept  on 
"  moseying  "  until  he  reached  the  back  of  the 
building,  and  there,  standing  upright  against  the 
rear  wall,  was  the  barrel,  and  beside  it,  mounted 
on  a  chair,  a  putty-faced  boy,  a  stranger  to  Tom, 
who  was  bus}^  boring  a  hole  in  the  top  of  it. 

"  Trade  pretty  brisk?  "  inquired  Connor,  saun- 
tering up. 

"  You  bet,"  replied  the  youth,  laconically. 

"What  does  '668'  stand  for?"  asked  the 
miner,  tapping  the  top  of  the  barrel  with  his 
finger. 

"  That's  the  number  of  the  barrel,"  was  the 
reply.  "  The  wholesalers  down  in  San  Remo 
always  cut  a  number  in  their  barrels  when  they 
send  'em  out." 


Boring  for  Oil  183 

"  Your  boss  must  be  a  right  smart  business 
man  to  run  a  'stablishment  like  this,"  remarked 
Tom,  after  a  pause,  glancing  about  the  store. 

"  That's  what,"  replied  the  boy,  admiringly. 
"  You'll  have  to  get  up  early  to  get  around  the 

boss.     Why,  this  barrel  here "    He  stopped 

short,  as  though  suddenly  remembering  the 
value  of  silence,  and  screwing  up  one  eye  as  if 
to  indicate  that  he  could  tell  things  if  he  liked, 
he  added,  "  Well,  when  the  boss  gets  his  hands 
on  a  thing  he  don't  let  go  easy,  I  tell  you  that." 

"  Ah  !     Smart  fellow,  the  boss." 

"  You  bet,"  remarked  the  youth  once  more. 

All  this  time  Tom  had  been  taking  notes. 
The  thin,  unplastered  wall  of  the  store  was  con- 
structed of  upright  planks  with  battens  over  the 
joints.  It  was  pierced  with  one  window  ;  and 
Tom  noted  that  between  the  edge  of  the  window 
and  the  centre  of  the  barrel  were  four  boards. 
He  noted  also  that  the  barrel  stood  firm  and 
square  upon  the  floor  and  that  the  floor  itself 
was  water-tight. 

While  he  was  making  these  observations,  the 
boy  finished  his  boring  operation  and  having 
inserted  a  vent-peg  in  the  hole,  walked  off*.  As 
soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Tom  stepped  up  to 


184      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

the  barrel,  pulled  out  the  vent-peg,  dropped  it 
into  his  pocket,  and  having  done  so,  sauntered 
leisurely  up  the  store  again  and  went  out. 

For  a  little  while  he  hung  around  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street  and  presently  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  lights  in  the  store  ex- 
tinguished, soon  after  which  Yetmore  came  out 
and  locking  the  door  behind  him,  walked  away 
to  his  house. 

"  Ah  !  So  the  putty-faced  boy  sleeps  in  the 
store,  does  he  ?"  remarked  Tom  to  himself;  a 
conclusion  in  which  he  was  confirmed  when  he 
saw  a  candle  lighted  and  the  boy  making  up  his 
bed  under  the  counter.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
candle  was  blown  out,  when  Tom  set  off  briskly 
up  the  street  for  the  widow's  store. 

He  found  Mrs.  Appleby  and  Seth  tidying  up 
preparatory  to  closing  the  store,  and  stepping  in, 
he  said,  "  You  don't  take  in  lodgers,  I  suppose, 
ma'am  ?  I'm  intending  to  stay  down  town  to- 
night." 

"  No,  we  don't,"  replied  the  widow.  "  The 
house  is  not  large  enough.  But  if  you've  no- 
where to  sleep,  you're  welcome  to  make  up 
a  bed  on  the  floor — I  can  let  you  have  some 
blankets." 


Boring  for  Oil  1 85 

"  Thank  ye,  ma'am,  I'll  be  glad  to  do  it,  if 
you  please." 

Accordingly,  after  the  widow  had  retired  up- 
stairs to  her  room  and  Seth  and  I  to  ours,  Tom 
spread  his  blankets  on  the  floor  and  went  to  bed 
himself 

All  was  dark  and  silent  when,  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Tom  sat  up  in  bed,  and  after 
fumbling  about  for  a  minute,  found  a  match  and 
lighted  a  candle. 

"  Have  to  get  up  early  to  get  around  the  boss, 
eh?"  said  he  to  himself,  with  a  chuckle. 
"  Wonder  if  this  is  early  enough." 

In  his  stocking-feet  he  walked  to  the  back 
door  and  opened  it  wide.  After  pausing  for  an 
instant  to  listen,  he  came  back,  and  lifting  the 
empty  oil  barrel  from  its  stand  he  carried  it  out- 
side. Next  he  selected  two  buckets,  and  having 
reached  down  from  a  high  shelf  a  large  funnel, 
an  auger  and  a  faucet,  he  carried  them  and  his 
boots  into  the  back  yard,  and  having  locked  the 
door  behind  him,  w^alked  off  into  the  darkness. 

In  a  short  time  he  reappeared,  leading  a 
horse,  to  which  was  harnessed  a  low  wood-sled. 
Upon  this  sled  he  firmly  lashed  the  barrel,  and 
gathering  up  the  other  implements  he  took  the 


1 86      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

horse  by  the  bridle  and  led  him  away  down  the 
silent  street ;  for  the  town  of  Sulphide  as  yet 
boasted  neither  a  lighting  system  nor  a  police 
force — or,  rather,  the  police  force  was  accustomed 
to  betake  himself  to  bed  with  the  rest  of  the 
community — so  Tom  had  the  dark  and  empty 
street  entirely  to  himself 

In  a  few  minutes  he  drew  up  at  the  rear  of 
Yetmore's  store,  where,  leaving  the  horse  stand- 
ing, he  proceeded  to  count  four  planks  from  the 
edge  of  the  window.  Having  marked  the  right 
plank,  he  took  the  auger,  and  crawling  beneath 
the  store,  set  to  work  boring  a  hole  up  through 
the  floor.  Presently  the  auger  broke  through, 
coming  with  a  thump  against  the  bottom  of  the 
barrel  above,  when  Tom  withdrew  the  instru- 
ment, and  taking  out  his  knife  enlarged  the  hole 
considerably. 

So  far,  so  good.  Next  he  set  a  bucket  beneath 
the  hole,  took  the  faucet  between  his  teeth  in 
order  to  have  it  handy,  and  inserting  the  auger, 
he  set  to,  boring  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  the 
barrel.  Soon  the  tool  popped  through,  when 
Tom  hastily  substituted  the  faucet,  which  he 
drove  firmly  in  with  a  blow  of  his  horny  palm. 

The  putty-faced  boy  inside  the  store  stirred  in 


Boring  for  Oil  187 

his  blankets,  muttered  something  about  "  them 
pigs,"  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

Tom  waited  a  moment  to  listen,  and  then  drew 
off  a  bucket  of  oil.  As  soon  as  this  was  full  he 
replaced  it  with  the  other  bucket  and  emptied 
the  first  one  into  the  barrel  on  the  sled.  This 
process  he  repeated  until  the  oil  began  to  dribble, 
when  he  carefully  knocked  out  the  faucet,  and 
having  collected  his  tools  and  emptied  the  last 
bucket  into  the  barrel,  he  again  took  the  horse 
by  the  bridle  and  silently  led  him  away. 

Arrived  once  more  in  the  widow's  back  yard, 
Tom  unshipped  the  barrel  and  went  off  to  re- 
store the  horse  to  its  stable.  He  soon  returned, 
and  having  unlocked  the  back  door  and  re-lighted 
his  candle,  he  proceeded  to  get  the  barrel  into  the 
house  and  back  upon  its  stand  ;  a  work  of 
immense  labor,  rendered  all  the  harder  by  the 
necessity  of  keeping  silence.  Tom  was  a  man 
of  great  strength,  however,  and  at  last  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  barrel  once  more  in 
its  place  without  having  heard  a  sound  from  the 
sleepers  overhead.  Having  washed  the  buckets 
and  tools,  he  put  them  back  where  they  came 
from,  locked  the  door,  and  for  the  second  time 
that  night  went  to  bed. 


iR8      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

It  was  about  half-past  six  in  the  morning  that 
Tom,  happening  to  look  out  of  the  front  window, 
saw  Yetmore  coming  hurriedly  up  the  street, 
like  a  hound  following  the  trail  of  the  sled. 
Stepping  to  the  little  window  at  the  rear,  Tom 
peeped  out  and  saw  the  storekeeper  enter  the 
back  yard,  walk  to  the  spot  where  the  sled  had 
stopped,  and  stand  for  a  minute  examining  the 
marks  in  the  soil.  Having  apparently  satisfied 
himself,  he  turned  about  and  went  off  down  the 
street  again. 

"  What's  he  going  to  do  about  it,  I  wonder?  " 
said  Tom  to  himself.  "  Reckon  I'll  just  mosey 
down  to  the  store  and  see." 

As  he  heard  Seth  coming  down  the  stairs,  he 
unlocked  the  front  door  and  stepping  outside, 
walked  down  to  Yetmore's. 

"  Morning,"  said  he,  cheerfully.  "  It's  a  bit 
early  for  customers,  I  suppose,  but  I'm  in  a 
hurry  this  morning  and  I'd  like  to  know 
whether  you  can  let  me  have  a  gallon  of  coal 
oil." 

"  Sorry  to  say  I  can't,"  replied  the  storekeeper. 
"  Our  onl}'-  barrel  sprang  a  leak  last  night  and 
every  drop  ran  out." 

"  You  don't  say ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  with  an 


Boring  for  Oil  189 

air  of  concern.  "  Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go 
up  to  the  widow  Appleby's.  She's  got  plenty, 
I  know." 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  hard  at  Yetmore, 
who  in  turn  looked  hard  at  him. 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  storekeeper  presently, 
"  maybe  you  know  something  about  that  leak  ?  " 

Tom  nodded.  "  I  do,"  said  he.  "  I  know  all 
about  it ;  and  I'm  the  only  one  that  does.  I 
know  the  whole  story,  too,  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  The  widow  has  got  her  barrel  of  oil ;  and 
you  and  I  can  make  a  sort  of  a  guess  as  to  how 
she  got  it.  As  to  your  barrel,  it  unfortunately 
sprung  a  leak.     Is  that  the  story  ?  " 

Yetmore  stood  for  a  minute  glowering  at  the 
big  miner,  and  then  said,  shortly,  ''  That's  the 
story." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Tom ;  and  turning  on  his 
heel,  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Tom's   Second  Window 

MRS.  APPLEBY  never  did  quite  understand 
how  her  barrel  of  oil  had  been  recovered 
for  her.  All  she  knew  for  certain  was  that  her 
good  friend,  Mr.  Connor,  had  somehow  procured 
it  from  Yetmore,  and  that  Yetmore  was,  as  Mr. 
Connor  said,  "  agreeable." 

As  for  myself,  when  Tom  that  morning,  tak- 
ing me  aside,  related  with  many  chuckles  how 
he  had  occupied  himself  during  the  night,  I 
must  own  that  my  only  feeling  was  one  of  satis- 
faction at  the  thought  that  Yetmore  had  been 
made  to  restore  the  widow's  property,  and  that 
the  fear  of  ridicule  would  probably  keep  him 
silent  on  the  subject.  Sharing  with  most  boys 
the  love  of  fair  play  and  the  hatred  of  op- 
pression, Tom's  cleverness  and  promptness  of 
action  seemed  to  me  altogether  commendable. 

Nevertheless,  I  foresaw  one  consequence  of  the 

transaction  which,  I  thought,  was  pretty  sure  to 

follow,  namely,  that  it  would  arouse  in  Yetmore 

an  angry  resolve  to  "  get  even  "  with  Tom  by 

190 


Tom's  Second  Window  191 

hook  or  by  crook.  That  he  would  resort  to 
active  reprisals  if  the  opportunity  presented  it- 
self I  felt  certain,  and  so  I  warned  our  friend. 
But  Tom,  careless  as  usual,  refused  to  take  any 
precautions,  believing  that  Yetmore  would  not 
venture  as  long  as  he — Tom — had,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  two  such  damaging  shots  in  his 
magazine  as  the  story  of  the  lead  boulder  and 
the  story  of  the  oil  barrel ;  on  both  of  which 
subjects  he  had,  with  rare  discretion,  determined 
to  keep  silence  unless  circumstances  should  war- 
rant their  disclosure. 

It  was  not  till  I  had  reached  home  again  and 
had  jubilantly  retailed  the  story  to  my  father, 
that  I  began  to  understand  how  there  might  be 
yet  another  aspect  to  the  matter.  Instead  of  re- 
ceiving it  with  a  hearty  laugh  and  a  "  Good  for 
Tom,"  as  I  had  anticipated,  he  shook  his  head 
and  said  : 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it.  Tom  made  a  mistake 
that  time.  That  Yetmore  should  be  made  to 
give  up  the  barrel  of  oil  is  proper  enough  ;  but 
what  right  has  Tom  to  appropriate  to  himself 
the  duties  of  judge,  jury  and  executive  officer  ? 
It  is  just  such  cases  as  this  that  earn  for  the 
American    people   the  reputation   of  a   nation 


192      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

without  respect  for  law.  No.  Tom  meant  well, 
I  know,  but  in  my  opinion  he  made  a  mistake 
all  the  same." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light,"  said  I ; 
"  so  it  is  just  as  well,  probably,  that  Tom  didn't 
let  me  into  the  secret  beforehand,  because  I'm 
afraid  I  should  have  been  only  too  ready  to  help 
if  he  had  asked  me." 

"  Yes,  it  is  just  as  well  you  were  not  given 
the  choice,  I  expect,"  replied  my  father,  smiling. 
"  I'm  glad  Tom  had  the  sense  to  take  the  whole 
responsibility  on  his  own  shoulders.  Does  he 
expect  that  Yetmore  will  be  content  to  let  the 
matter  rest  where  it  is  ?  " 

**  He  seems  to  think  so ;  though  he  is  such  a 
heedless  fellow  that  it  wouldn't  bother  him 
much  if  he  thought  otherwise." 

"  Well,  in  my  opinion  he  will  do  well  to  keep 
his  eyes  open.  As  I  told  you  before,  I  think 
Yetmore's  natural  caution  would  prompt  him 
to  keep  within  the  law,  but  it  is  not  impossible 
now,  Tom  having  set  him  the  example — for  one 
such  transgression  of  the  law  is  apt  to  breed 
another — that  he  will  think  himself  justified  in 
resorting  to  lawless  measures  in  his  turn  ;  espe- 
cially as  he  will  have  that  fellow.  Long  John, 


Tom's  Second  Window  193 

jogging  his  elbow  and  whispering  evil  counsels 
in  his  ear  all  the  time." 

How  correct  my  father  was  in  his  presump- 
tion ;  how  Long  John  did  devise  a  scheme  of 
retaliation  ;  and  how  Joe  and  I  inadvertently 
got  our  fingers  into  the  pie,  I  shall  have  to 
relate  in  due  course. 

But  though  my  father  disapproved  of  Tom's 
action,  that  fact  did  not  lessen  his  desire  to  help 
his  friend  when  I  had  related  to  him  how  Tom 
had  indeed  spent  all  his  savings  on  Mrs.  Murphy 
and  her  family. 

"  What  a  good-hearted,  harum-scarum  fellow 
he  is  !  "  exclaimed  my  father.  "  He  knows — in 
fact,  no  one  knows  better — that  there  is  a  pos- 
sible fortune  waiting  for  him  somewhere  up 
here  on  Lincoln  ;  he  saves  up  all  winter  so  that 
he  may  be  free  to  go  and  hunt  for  it  in  the 
spring;  yet  at  the  first  note  of  distress,  away 
he  runs  and  tumbles  all  his  savings  into  Mrs. 
Murphy's  lap,  who,  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
has  no  real  claim  upon  him,  thus  taking  the 
risk  of  being  stranded  in  town  while  Long  John 
goes  off  and  cuts  him  out.  What  are  we  going 
to  do  about  it,  boys  ?     What  can  you  suggest  ?  " 

"  It  would  certainly  be  a  shame,"  said  Joe, 


194      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  if  Tom,  by  his  act  of  charity,  should  put  him- 
self out  of  the  running  in  the  search  for  that 
vein  of  galena.  Yet  he  will  surely  do  so  if  he 
can't  raise  that  money.  And  even  if  he  should 
raise  it,  he  might  be  late  in  getting  it,  in  which 
case  Long  John  would  get  the  start  of  him." 

"  That's  the  case  in  a  nutshell,"  my  father 
assented  ;  "  and,  as  I  said  before  :  What  are  we 
going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Why  ■ "  Joe  began  ;  and  then  he  sud- 
denly jumped  up  and  coming  across  the  room 
he  whispered  something  in  my  ear.  I  replied 
with  a  nod ;  whereupon  Joe  returned  to  his 
chair,  and  addressing  my  father  once  more,  said : 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Mr.  Crawford. 
Phil  and  I  made  forty  dollars  last  fall  cutting 
timbers — it  was  Tom  who  got  us  our  order,  too 
— and  we  have  it  still.  We'll  put  that  in — eh, 
Phil? — if  it  will  be  any  use." 

"Yes,"  said  I.     "Gladly." 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  my  father.  "  Then  that 
settles  it.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll 
add  sixty  dollars  to  it — that  is  all  I  can  afford 
just  now — and  you  two  shall  ride  back  to 
Sulphide  this  afternoon,  give  Tom  the  money, 
and   tell   him   he   shall   have   fifty  more  in  a 


Tom's  Second  Window  195 

couple  of  months  if  lie  needs  it.  And  tell  him 
at  the  same  time  that  he  needn't  go  mortgaging 
his  little  house.  We  don't  want  security  from 
Tom  Connor  :  we  know  him  too  well.  I'd  rather 
have  his  word  than  some  men's  bond.  You 
shall  ride  up  to  see  him  this  afternoon,  and  you 
needn't  hurry  back  to-day ;  for  that  rain  of  last 
night  has  made  the  ground  too  wet  to  continue 
plowing ;  and,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  we're  in  for 
another  storm  to-night,  in  which  case  the  soil 
won't  be  in  condition  again  for  two  or  three 
days." 

I  need  hardly  say  that  Joe  and  I  were  de- 
lighted to  undertake  this  mission,  and  about 
four  o'clock  we  reached  Mrs.  Appleby's,  where 
we  put  up  our  ponies  in  her  stable.  Then,  as 
Tom  would  not  be  quitting  work  for  another 
hour,  instead  of  going  direct  to  his  house,  we 
climbed  up  to  the  Pelican,  intending  to  catch 
him  there  and  walk  home  with  him. 

Presently  arriving  at  the  great  white  dump 
of  bleached  porphyry  to  which  the  citizens  of 
Sulphide  were  accustomed  to  point  with  pride 
as  an  indication  of  the  immense  amount  of 
work  it  had  taken  to  make  the  Pelican  the  im- 
portant mine  it  was,  we  scrambled  up  to  the 


196      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

engine-house,  where  for  some  minutes  we  stood 
watching  the  busy  engine  as  it  whirled  to  the 
surface  the  buckets  of  waste.  Then,  stepping 
over  to  the  mouth  of  the  shaft,  we  paused  again 
to  watch  the  top-men  as  they  emptied  the  big 
buckets  into  the  car  and  trundled  the  car  itself 
to  the  edge  of  the  dump,  upset  it,  and  trundled 
it  back  again  for  more. 

As  we  stood  there,  a  miner  came  up,  and 
stepping  out  of  the  cage,  nodded  to  us  in  passing. 

"  Want  anybody,  boys?  "  he  asked. 

"  We're  waiting  for  Tom  Connor,"  I  replied. 
"  He's  down  below,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he's  down  in  the  fifth.  I'll  take  you 
down  there  if  you  like.  I'm  going  back  in  a 
minute." 

"  What  do  you  think,  Joe?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  let's  go,"  my  companion  replied.  "  I've 
never  been  inside  a  mine,  and  I  should  like  to 
see  one." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  miner.  "  Come  over 
here  to  the  dressing-room  and  I'll  give  you  a 
lamp  and  a  couple  of  slickers.  It's  a  bit  wet 
down  there." 

Joe  and  I  were  soon  provided  with  water-proof 
coats,  and  in  company  with  our  new  friend  we 


Tom's  Second  Window  197 

stepped  into  the  cage,  when  the  miner,  shutting 
the  door  behind  us,  called  out  to  the  engineer, 
"  Fifth  level,  McPherson,"  and  instantly  the 
floor  of  the  cage  seemed  to  drop  from  under  us. 
After  a  fall  of  several  miles,  as  it  appeared  to  us, 
the  cage  stopped,  when,  peering  through  the 
wire  lattice-work,  we  saw  before  us  a  dark  pas- 
sage, upon  one  side  of  which  hung  a  white  board 
with  a  big  "  5  "  painted  upon  it. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  the  miner,  stepping  out 
of  the  cage  and  handing  us  a  lighted  lamp. 
"  Just  walk  straight  along  this  drift  about  three 
hundred  feet — it's  all  plain  sailing — and  you'll 
find  Tom  Connor  at  work  there.  I'm  going  on 
down  to  the  seventh  myself." 

With  that  he  stepped  back  into  the  cage,  rang 
the  bell,  and  vanished,  leaving  us  standing  there 
eyeing  each  other  a  little  dubiously  at  finding 
ourselves  left  to  our  own  guidance,  four  hundred 
feet  below  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

"  I  hadn't  reckoned  on  that,"  said  I.  "  I 
thought  he  was  coming  with  us." 

"  So  did  I,"  replied  Joe.  "  But  it  doesn't 
really  matter.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  walk 
along  this  passage  ;  so  let's  go  ahead." 

That  our  obliging  friend  had  been  right  when 


198       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

he  stated  that  it  was  "  a  bit  wet "  down  here  was 
evident,  for  the  drops  of  water  from  the  roof  of 
the  drift  kept  pattering  upon  our  slickers,  and 
presently,  when  we  had  advanced  something 
over  half  the  distance,  one  of  them  fell  plump 
upon  the  flame  of  our  lamp  and  put  it  out ! 

We  stopped  short,  not  knowing  what  pitfalls 
there  might  be  ahead  of  us,  and  each  felt  in  all 
his  pockets  for  a  match.  We  had  none  !  Never 
anticipating  any  such  contingency  as  this,  we 
had  ventured  into  this  black  hole  without  a 
match  in  our  possession. 

I  admit  that  we  were  scared — the  darkness 
was  so  very  dark  and  the  silence  so  very  silent 
— but  fortunately  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 
Standing  stock  still,  for,  indeed,  we  dared  not 
move,  we  shouted  for  Tom,  when,  to  our  infinite 
relief,  we  heard  his  familiar  voice  call  out : 

"  Hallo,  there  !  That  you.  Patsy  ?  I'm  com- 
ing.    Does  the  boss  want  me  ?  " 

The  next  moment  a  light  appeared  moving 
towards  us,  and  as  soon  as  we  could  safely  do  so 
we  advanced  to  meet  it. 

"  How  are  you,  Tom  ?  "  we  both  cried,  simul- 
taneously, assuming  an  off-hand  manner,  as 
though  we  had  not  been  scared  a  bit. 


Tom's  Second  Window  199 

Tom  stopped,  not  recognizing  us  for  a  moment, 
and  then  exclaimed  : 

"  Hallo,  boys  !  What  are  you  doing  down 
here?     Who  brought  you  down  ?  " 

We  told  him  how  we  came  to  be  there,  and 
how  our  lamp  had  gone  out;  at  which  Tom 
shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  it  was  certainly  a  smart  trick  to  send 
you  down  into  this  wet  hole  and  not  even  see 
that  you  had  a  match  in  your  pocket.  What 
w^ould  you  have  done  if  I'd  happened  to  have 
left  the  drift?" 

The  very  idea  gave  me  cold  chills  all  down 
my  back. 

"  We  should  have  been  badly  scared,  Tom, 
and  that's  a  fact,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  hope  we 
should  have  kept  our  heads.  I  believe  we 
should  have  sat  down  where  we  were  and  shouted 
till  somebody  came." 

"  Well,  that  would  have  been  the  best  thing 
you  could  do,  though  you  might  have  had  to 
shout  a  pretty  long  time,  for  there  is  nobody 
working  in  this  level  just  now  but  me,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  should  have  left  it  myself  in 
another  five  minutes.  But  it's  all  right  as  it 
happens ;  so  now  you  can  come  along  with  me. 


200      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

I'm  going  out  the  other  way  through  Yetmore's 
ground." 

"  Yetmore's  ground  ?  "  exclaimed  Joe,  inquir- 
ingly. 

"  Yes,  Yetmore  is  working  the  old  stopes  of 
the  Pelican  on  a  lease — it  is  one  of  his  many 
ventures.  In  the  early  days  of  the  camp  min- 
ing was  conducted  much  more  carelessly  than 
it  is  now  ;  freight  and  smelter  charges  were  a 
good  bit  higher,  too,  so  that  a  considerable 
amount  of  ore  of  too  low  grade  to  ship  then 
was  left  standing  in  the  stopes.  Yetmore  is  tak- 
ing it  out  on  shares.  His  ground  lies  this  way. 
Come  on." 

So  saying,  Tom  led  the  way  to  the  end  of  the 
drift,  where,  going  down  upon  his  hands  and 
knees,  he  crawled  through  a  man-hole,  coming 
out  into  a  little  shaft  which  he  called  a  "  winze." 
Ascending  this  by  a  short  ladder,  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  old,  abandoned  workings,  and  still 
following  our  guide,  we  presently  walked  out 
into  the  daylight — greatly  to  our  surprise. 

"  Why,  where  have  we  got  to,  Tom  ?  "  cried 
Joe,  as  we  stared  about  us,  not  recognizing  our 
surroundings. 

Tom  laughed.     "  This  is  called  Stony  Gulch," 


Tom's  Second  Window  201 

he  replied.  "  The  mine  used  to  be  worked 
through  this  tunnel  where  we  just  came  out,  but 
the  tunnel  isn't  used  now  except  temporarily  by 
Yetmore's  men.  He  only  runs  a  day  shift  and 
at  night  he  closes  the  place  with  that  big  door 
and  locks  it  up.  The  Pelican  buildings  are  just 
over  the  hill  here,  and  we  may  as  well  go  up  at 
once :  it  will  be  quitting-time  by  the  time  we  get 
there." 

We  climbed  over  the  hill,  therefore,  and  hav- 
ing restored  our  slickers,  went  on  with  Tom 
down  to  his  little  cottage,  which  was  only  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  mine. 

It  was  not  until  we  were  inside  his  house  that 
we  explained  to  Tom  the  object  of  our  visit,  at 
the  same  time  handing  over  to  him  my  father's 
check  for  one  hundred  dollars.  The  good  fellow 
was  quite  touched  by  this  very  simple  token  of 
good-will  on  our  part ;  for,  though  he  was  ever 
ready  to  help  others,  it  seemed  never  to  have  oc- 
curred to  him  that  others  might  like  sometimes 
to  help  him. 

This  little  bit  of  business  being  settled,  we  all 
pitched  in  to  assist  in  getting  supper  ready,  and 
presently  we  were  seated  round  Tom's  table  test- 
ing the  result  of  our  cookery.     As  we  sat  there, 


202       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Joe,  pointing  to  a  window-sash  and  some  planed 
and  fitted  lumber  which  stood  leaning  against 
the  wall,  asked : 

''  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that,  Tom  ? 
Put  in  a  second  window?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  our  host.  "  And  I  was  intend- 
ing to  do  it  this  evening.  You  can  help  me  now 
you're  here.  The  stuff  is  all  ready  ;  all  we  have 
to  do  is  to  cut  the  hole  in  the  wall  and  slap  it  in. 
It's  just  one  sash,  not  intended  to  open  and  shut, 
so  it's  a  simple  job  enough." 

**  Where  does  it  go  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

**  There,  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  door. 
Old  man  Snyder,  in  the  next  house  west,  put  one 
in  some  time  ago,  and  it's  such  an  improvement 
that  I  decided  to  do  the  same.  We'll  step  out 
presently  and  look  at  Snyder's,  and  then  you'll 
see.     Hallo  !     Come  in  !  " 

This  shout  was  occasioned  by  a  tapping  at  the 
door,  and  in  response  to  Tom's  call  there  stepped 
in  a  tall  miner,  whom  I  recognized  as  George 
Simpson,  one  of  the  Pelican  men. 

"  Come  in,  George,"  cried  our  host.  "  Come 
in  and  have  some  supper.     What's  new  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't  take  any  supper,  thank  ye,"  re- 
plied the  miner.     "  I  must  get  along  home.     I 


Tom's  Second  Window  203 

just  dropped  in  to  speak  to  you.  You  know 
Arty  Burns? — works  on  the  night  shift?  Well, 
Arty's  sick.  When  he  came  up  to  the  mine  to- 
night he  was  too  sick  to  stand,  so  I  packed  him 
off  home  again  and  told  him  to  go  to  bed  where 
he  belonged  and  I'd  see  to  it  that  somebody  went 
on  in  his  place,  so  that  he  shouldn't  lose  his  job. 
I'm  proposing  to  work  half  his  shift  for  him  my- 
self, and  I  want  to  find  somebody " 

"  All  right,  George,"  Connor  cut  in.  "  I'll 
take  the  other  half.  Which  do  you  want? 
First  or  second  ?  " 

"  Second,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  Tom.  If 
I  don't  get  home  first  my  old  woman  will  think 
there's  something  the  matter.  So,  if  you  don't 
mind,  you  can  go  on  first  and  I'll  relieve  you  at 
half-time." 

"  All  right,  George,  then  I'll  get  out  at  once. 
You  boys  can  wash  up,  if  you  will ;  and  you'll 
find  a  mattress  and  plenty  of  blankets  in  the 
back  room.     I'll  be  back  soon  after  eleven." 

With  that,  carrying  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  for 
it  was  getting  dark,  away  he  went ;  while  the 
miner  hurried  off  across  lots  for  town  ;  neither 
of  them,  apparently,  thinking  it  anything  out 
of  the  way  to  do  a  full  day's  work  and  then,  in- 


204      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

stead  of  taking  his  well-earned  rest,  to  go  off  and 
do  another  half-day's  work  in  order  to  ''  hold  the 
job  "  for  a  third  man,  to  whom  neither  of  them 
was  under  any  obligation. 

Nor  was  it  anything  out  of  the  way  ;  for  the 
silver-miners  of  Colorado,  whatever  their  faults, 
did  in  those  days,  and  probably  do  still,  exercise 
towards  their  fellows  a  practical  charity  which 
might  well  be  counted  to  cover  a  multitude  of 
sins. 

"  Look  here,  Phil !  "  exclaimed  my  companion, 
after  we  had  washed  and  put  away  the  dishes. 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  Let's  pitch  in  and 
put  in  Tom's  second  window  for  him  !  " 

"  Good  idea  !  "  I  cried.  "  We'll  do  it !  Let's 
go  out  first,  though,  Joe,  and  take  a  look  at  old 
Snyder's  house,  so  that  we  may  see  what  effect 
Tom  expects  to  get." 

"  Come  on,  then  !  " 

The  row  of  six  little  houses,  of  which  Tom's 
was  the  third,  counting  from  the  west,  had  been 
one  of  Yetmore's  speculations.  They  were 
situated  on  the  southern  outskirts  of  town, 
and  were  mostly  occupied  by  miners  working 
on  the  Pelican.  Each  house  was  an  exact 
counterpart  of  every  other,  they  having  been 


Tom's  Second  Window  205 

built  by  contract  all  on  one  pattern.  Each  had 
a  room  in  front  and  a  room  behind  ;  one  little 
brick  chimney  ;  a  front  door  with  two  steps  ; 
and  a  window  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  door 
as  you  faced  the  house.  All  were  painted  the 
same  color. 

Yetmore  having  secured  the  land,  had  laid  it 
out  as  "  Yetmore's  Addition  "  to  the  town  of 
Sulphide  ;  had  marked  out  streets  and  alleys, 
and  had  built  the  six  houses  as  a  starter,  hoping 
thereby  to  draw  people  out  there.  But  as  yet 
his  building-lots  were  a  drug  in  the  market : 
they  were  too  far  out ;  there  being  a  vacant 
space  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  thereabouts  be- 
tween them  and  the  next  nearest  houses  in  town. 
The  streets  themselves  were  undistinguishable 
from  the  rest  of  the  country,  being  merely 
marked  out  with  stakes  and  having  had  no 
work  whatever  expended  upon  them. 

The  six  houses,  built  about  three  hundred  feet 
apart,  all  faced  north — towards  the  town — and 
being  so  far  apart  and  all  so  precisely  alike,  it 
was  absolutely  impossible  for  any  one  coming 
from  town  on  a  dark  night  to  tell  which  house 
was  which.  Not  even  the  tenants  themselves, 
coming   across   the  vacant  lots  after  nightfall, 


2o6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

could  tell  their  own  houses  from  those  of  their 
neighbors ;  and  consequently  it  was  a  common 
event  for  one  of  the  sleepy  inmates,  stirred  out 
of  bed  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  to  find  a  belated 
citizen  outside  inquiring  whether  this  was  his 
house  or  somebody  else's.  Not  infrequently 
they  neglected  to  knock  first,  and  walking 
straight  in,  found  themselves,  to  their  great  em- 
barrassment, in  the  wrong  house. 

Old  man  Snyder,  a  somewhat  irritable  old 
gentleman,  having  been  thus  disturbed  tw^o 
nights  in  succession,  determined  that  he  would 
no  longer  subject  himself  to  the  nuisance.  He 
bought  a  single  sash  and  inserted  a  second 
window  on  the  other  side  of  his  door  ;  a  device 
which  not  only  saved  him  from  intrusion,  but 
served  as  a  guide  to  his  neighbors  in  finding 
their  own  houses.  It  was  also  a  very  obvious 
improvement,  and  we  did  not  wonder  that  Tom 
Connor  had  determined  to  follow  his  neighbor's 
example. 

Old  Snyder's  house  was  the  second  from  the 
western  end  of  the  street,  Tom  Connor's,  three 
hundred  feet  distant,  came  next,  while  next  to 
Tom's,  another  three  hundred  feet  away,  was  a 


Tom's  Second  Window  207 

houae  which  still  belonged  to  Yetmore  and  was 
at  that  moment  standing  empty. 

You  will  wonder,  very  likely,  why  I  should 
go  into  all  these  details,  but  you  will  cease  to 
wonder,  I  think,  when  you  see  presently  of  what 
transcendent  importance  to  Joe  and  me  was  the 
situation  of  these  three  houses. 

Joe  and  I,  laying  hands  on  our  host's  kit  of 
tools,  at  once  went  to  work  on  the  window.  As 
Tom  had  said,  it  was  a  simple  job,  and  though 
it  was  something  of  a  handicap  to  work  by  lamp- 
light, we  went  at  it  so  vigorously  that  by  nine 
o'clock  we  had  completed  our  task — very  much 
to  our  satisfaction. 

Stepping  outside  to  observe  the  effect,  we  saw 
that  old  Snyder's  windows  were  lighted  up  also ; 
but  we  had  hardly  noted  that  fact  when  his 
light  went  out. 

"The  old  fellow  goes  to  bed  early,  Joe," 
said  I. 

"  Yes,"  Joe  replied  ;  and  then,  with  a  sudden 
laugh,  added  :  "  My  wig,  Phil !  I  hope  there 
won't  be  anybody  coming  out  from  town  to- 
night. If  they  do,  there'll  be  complications. 
They  will  surely  be  taking  our  two  windows  for 


2o8      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

old  Snyder's,  for,  now  that  his  light  is  out,  you 
can't  see  his  house  at  all." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  I.  "  If  Snyder's  right- 
hand  neighbor  should  come  out  across  the  flats 
to-night  he  would  see  our  two  windows,  and,  sup- 
posing them  to  be  Snyder's  windows,  he  would 
be  almost  sure  to  go  blundering  into  the  old 
fellow's  house.     My  !     How  mad  he  would  be  !  " 

"  Wouldn't  he  !  And  any  one  coming  out  to 
visit  Tom  would  pretty  certainly  go  and  pound 
on  the  door  of  the  empty  house  to  the  left." 

"  Well,  let  us  hope  that  nobody  does  come 
out,"  said  I.  "  Come  on,  now,  Joe.  Let's  get 
back.     It's  going  to  rain  pretty  soon." 

"  Yes ;  your  father  was  right  when  he  pre- 
dicted more  rain.  It's  going  to  be  a  biggish  one, 
I  should  think.  How  dark  it  is  1  I  don't 
wonder  people  find  a  difficulty  in  telling  which 
house  is  which  when  all  the  lights  are  out. 
Here  it  comes  now.     Step  out,  Phil." 

As  he  spoke,  a  blast  of  wind  from  the  moun- 
tains struck  us,  and  a  few  needles  of  cold  rain 
beat  against  our  right  cheeks. 

We  were  soon  inside  again,  when,  having  shut 
our  door,  we  sat  down  to  a  game  of  checkers,  in 
which  we  became  so  absorbed  that  we  failed  to 


Tom's  Second  Window  209 

note  the  lapse  of  time  until  Tom's  dollar  clock, 
hanging  on  the  wall,  banged  out  the  hour  of 
ten. 

"  To  bed,  Joe  !  "  I  cried,  springing  out  of  my 
chair.  "  Why,  we  haven't  been  up  so  late  for 
weeks." 

Stepping  into  the  back  room,  we  soon  had 
mattress  and  blankets  spread  upon  the  floor, 
when,  quickly  undressing,  I  crept  into  bed, 
while  Joe,  returning  to  the  front  room,  blew  out 
the  light. 

Five  minutes  later  we  were  both  asleep,  with 
a  comfortable  consciousness  that  we  had  done  a 
good  evening's  work  ;  though  we  little  sus- 
pected how  good  an  evening's  work  it  really  was. 
For  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  had  we 
not  put  in  Tom's  second  window  that  night  we 
might  both  have  been  dead  before  morning. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Tom  Connor's  Scare 

WHEN  Long  John  Butterfield  (it  was  Yet- 
more  himself  who  told  us  all  this  long  af- 
terwards) when  Long  John,  returning  from  his 
day's  prospecting  up  among  the  foot-hills  of 
Mount  Lincoln,  had  related  to  his  employer  the 
result  of  his  labors,  two  conclusions  instantly 
presented  themselves  to  the  worthy  mayor  of 
Sulphide.  A  man  less  acute  than  Yetmore 
would  have  understood  at  once  that  we  had  dis- 
covered the  nature  of  the  black  sand  in  the  pool, 
and  that  just  as  he  had  sent  out  Long  John,  so 
my  father  had  sent  out  us  boys  to  determine,  if 
possible,  which  stream  it  was  that  had  brought 
down  the  powdered  galena. 

Moreover,  knowing  my  father  as  he  did — 
whose  opinions  on  prospecting  as  a  business 
were  no  secret  in  the  communit}^ — Yetmore  was 
sure  that  it  was  in  the  interest  of  Tom  Connor 
we  had  been  sent  out ;  and  it  was  equally  plain 
to  him  that,  such  being  the  case,  Tom's  infor- 


Tom   Connor's  Scare  211 

mation  on  the  subject  would  be  just  as  good  as 
his  own.  He  was,  of  course,  unaware  that  our 
information  was  in  reality  a  good  deal  better 
than  his  own,  thanks  to  the  hint  given  us  by 
our  friend,  Peter,  as  to  the  deposit  at  the  head 
of  Big  Reuben's  gorge. 

Knowing  all  this,  Yetmore  had  no  doubt  that 
Tom  would  be  starting  out  the  moment  the  foot- 
hills were  bare,  and  as  Long  John  could  do  no 
more — for  it  was  obviously  useless  to  start  be- 
fore the  ground  was  clear — it  would  result  in  a 
race  between  the  two  as  to  who  should  get  out 
first  and  keep  ahead  of  the  other  ;  in  which  case 
Tom's  chances  would  be  at  least  equal  to  his 
competitor's. 

But  was  there  no  way  by  which  Tom  Connor 
might  be  delayed  in  starting,  if  only  for  a  day 
or  two  ?  That  was  the  question ;  and  very 
earnestly  it  was  discussed  between  the  pair. 

Vain,  however,  were  their  discussions ;  they 
could  think  of  no  way  of  keeping  Tom  in  town. 
For,  though  Long  John  threw  out  occasional 
hints  as  to  how  he  would  manage  it,  if  his  em- 
ployer would  only  give  him  leave,  his  schemes 
always  suggested  the  use  of  unlawful  means  of 
one  sort  or  another,  and  Yetmore  would  have 


212      The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

none  of  them  ;  for  he  had  at  least  sufficient  re- 
spect for  the  law  to  be  afraid  of  it. 

A  gleam  of  hope  appeared  when  it  was 
rumored  about  town  that  Tom  Connor  was  try- 
ing to  raise  money  on  his  house  ;  a  rumor  which 
Yetmore  very  quickly  took  pains  to  verify.  In 
this  he  had  no  trouble  whatever,  for  everybody 
knew  the  circumstances,  and  everybody.  Yet- 
more  found,  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  Tom's 
self-sacrifice  in  spending  his  hard-earned  sav- 
ings for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Murphy  and  her  dis- 
tressed family. 

The  fact  that  his  rival  was  out  of  funds  caused 
Yetmore  to  rub  his  hands  with  glee.  Here,  in- 
deed, was  a  possible  chance  to  keep  him  tied  up 
in  town.  It  all  depended  upon  his  being  able 
to  prevent  Tom  from  securing  the  loan  he  sought, 
and  diligently  did  the  storekeeper  canvass  one 
plan  after  another  in  his  own  mind — but  still  in 
vain.  The  sum  desired  was  so  moderate  that 
some  one  would  almost  surely  be  found  to  ad- 
vance it. 

While  his  schemes  were  still  fermenting  in  his 
head,  there  came  late  one  night  a  knock  at  his 
door — it  was  the  very  night  that  Tom  Connor 
went  boring  for  oil — and  Long  John  Butterfield 


"'can  folks  see  in  from  outside?' 


Tom   Connor's  Scare  2 1  3 

slipped  into  the  house.  Long  John,  too,  had 
heard  of  Tom's  necessities ;  he,  too,  had  per- 
ceived the  value  of  the  opportunity  ;  and  being 
untrammeled  by  any  respect  for  law  as  long  as 
there  was  little  likelihood  that  the  law  would  find 
him  out,  he  had  devised  in  his  own  mind  a 
plan  which  would  promptly  and  effectually 
prevent  Tom  from  raising  any  money  on  his 
house. 

This  plan  he  had  now  come  to  suggest  to  his 
employer. 

"  Any  one  in  the  house  with  you,  Mr.  Yet- 
more?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No,  John,  I'm  all  alone.  Come  in.  Why 
do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  and  I 
didn't  want  anybody  listening,  that's  all.  Can 
folks  see  in  from  outside?  " 

"  No,  not  while  the  curtains  are  drawn.  Come 
on  in.     What's  all  this  mystery  about?  " 

Long  John  entered,  and  sitting  down  close  to 
his  friend,  he  began,  speaking  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  You've  heard  about  Tom  Connor  trying  to 
raise  money  on  his  house,  o'  course  ?  Well,  I 
can  stop  him,  if  you  say  so.  Any  one  can  see 
what  Tom  wants  the  money  for.     He'll  get  that 


214      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

hundred  and  fifty,  sure,  and  then  off  he'll  go. 
He's  a  thorough  good  prospector,  better'n  me, 
and  with  equal  chances  the  betting  will  be  in 
his  favor.  If  there's  a  big  vein,  there's  a  big 
fortune  for  the  finder,  and  it's  for  you  to  say 
whether  Tom  Connor  is  to  get  a  shot  at  it  or 
not." 

Long  John  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  em- 
phasizing each  point  with  an  extended  finger, 
he  continued :  "  Without  money  Tom  can't 
move — that's  sure ;  he's  strapped  just  now — 
that's  sure ;  and  his  only  way  of  getting  the  cash 
is  by  raising  it  on  that  house  of  his — and  that's 
sure.  Now,  Mr.  Yetmore,  you  say  the  word  and 
he  shan't  get  it.  No  personal  violence  that 
you're  always  objecting  to.  Just  the  simplest 
little  move ;  nobody  hurt  and  nobody  the 
wiser." 

Yetmore  gazed  at  him  earnestly  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  said  :  "  It's  against  the  law,  I 
f:  appose." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Long  John,  with  a  careless 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  It's  against  the  law 
all  right ;  but  what  does  that  matter  to  you  ? 
I'm  the  one  to  do  the  job,  and  I'm  the  only  one 


Tom  Connor's  Scare  215 

the  law  can  touch,  if  it  can  touch  any  one ;  and 
I  don't  mean  that  it  shall  touch  me.  It's  safe 
and  it's  sure." 

''Well,  John,  what  is  it?" 

Long  John  rose  from  his  chair,  leaned  for- 
ward, and  whispered  in  the  other's  ear  a  little 
sentence  of  five  words. 

For  a  moment  Yetmore  gazed  open-eyed  at  his 
henchman,  then  suddenly  turned  pale,  then 
shook  his  head. 

"  I  daren't,  John,"  said  he.  "  It's  a  simple 
plan  and  it  looks  safe  ;  and  even  if  it  were  found 
out  it  would  be  about  impossible  for  the  law  to 
prove  anything  against  me,  whatever  it  might 
do  to  you.  But  it  isn't  the  law  I'm  afraid  of 
— it's  the  people.  Tom  Connor  has  always 
been  a  favorite,  and  just  now  he  is  more  of  a 
favorite  than  ever,  and  if  it  should  be  found 
out,  or  even  suspected,  that  I  had  any  part  in 
such  a  deed  my  business  would  be  ruined  :  the 
whole  population  would  turn  their  backs  upon 
me.     I  daren't  do  it,  John." 

"  Well,  boss,"  said  Long  John,  with  an  air  of 
resignation,  shoving  his  hands  deep  into  his 
pockets  and  thrusting  out  his  long  legs  to  the 


21 6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

fire,  "  if  you  won't,  you  won't,  I  suppose  ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  you're  a  bit  over-timorous.  Who's 
to  suspect,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Who's  to  suspect !  "  exclaimed  Yetmore, 
sharply.  "  Why,  Tom  Connor,  himself,  and  old 
Crawford  and  those  two  meddling  boys  of  his. 
They'd  not  only  suspect — they'd  know  that  you 
had  done  the  job  and  that  I'd  paid  you  for  it. 
And  if  they  should  go  around  telling  their  ver- 
sion of  the  story,  everybody  would  believe  them 
and  nothing  I  could  say  would  count  against 
them ;  for  they've  all  of  them,  worse  luck,  got 
the  reputation  of  being  as  truthful  as  daylight, 
while,  as  for  me " 

Long  John  laughed.  "As  for  you,  you 
haven't,  eh  ?  Well,  Mr.  Yetmore,  it's  for  you  to 
say,  of  course,  but  it  seems  to  me  you're  missing 
the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  Anyhow,  my  offer 
stands  good,  and  if  you  change  your  mind  you've 
only  got  to  wink  at  me  and  I'll  trump  Tom  Con- 
nor's ace  for  him  so  sudden  he'll  be  dizzy  for  a 
week." 

With  that,  Long  John  arose,  slipped  out  of 
the  house  and  sneaked  off  home  by  a  back  alley, 
leaving  Yetmore  pacing  up  and  down  his  room 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  thinking  over  and 


Tom  Connor's  Scare  217 

over  again  what  would  be  the  result  if  he  should 
authorize  Long  John  to  go  ahead. 

*'  No,"  said  he  at  last,  as  he  took  up  the  lamp 
to  go  to  bed,  "  I  daren't.  It's  a  good  idea,  sim- 
ple, sure  and  probably  safe,  but  I  daren't  risk  it. 
Xo.  Law  or  no  law,  the  public  would  be  down 
on  me  for  certain.  I  must  think  up  some  other 
scheme." 

Though  he  thus  dismissed  the  subject  from 
his  mind,  as  he  believed,  the  idea  still  lurked  in 
the  corners  of  his  brain  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
when  at  six  in  the  morning  he  awoke,  there  was 
the  little  black  imp  sitting  on  the  pillow,  as  it 
were,  waiting  to  go  on  with  the  discussion. 

Yetmore,  however,  brushed  aside  the  tempter, 
jumped  into  his  clothes  and  walked  off  to  the 
store,  where  he  found  the  putty-faced  boy  anx- 
iously awaiting  his  appearance  in  order  that  he 
himself  might  be  off  to  his  breakfast. 

"  Pht !  "  exclaimed  the  proprietor,  the  moment 
he  set  foot  inside  the  store.  "  What's  this  smell 
of  coal  oil?" 

"  I  don't  smell  it,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  You  don't !  Hm  !  I  suppose  you've  got 
used  to  it.     Well,  get  along  to  your  breakfast." 

As  the  boy  ran  off,  Yetmore  walked  to  the 


2i8      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

back  of  the  building.  Here  the  scent  was  so 
strong  that  he  was  convinced  the  barrel  must  be 
leaking,  so,  seizing  hold  of  it,  he  gave  a  mighty 
heave,  when  the  empty  barrel  came  away  in  his 
hands,  as  the  saying  is.     He  almost  fell  over. 

To  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  leak  was  the 
work  of  a  moment ;  to  trail  the  sled  to  Mrs.  Ap- 
pleby's back  yard  was  the  work  of  five  minutes  ; 
but  having  done  this,  Yetmore  was  at  fault,  for, 
knowing  well  enough  that  neither  the  widow 
nor  her  son  were  capable  of  such  an  undertak- 
ing, he  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  who  the  culprit 
might  be. 

It  was  only  when  Tom  Connor  a  minute  later 
stepped  into  the  store  and  arranged  that  story 
of  the  leaky  oil-barrel  which  he  had  described 
as  being  "  agreeable  "  to  Yetmore,  that  the  store- 
keeper arrived  at  a  true  understanding  of  the 
whole  matter.  To  say  that  he  was  enraged  would 
be  to  put  it  too  mildly,  and,  as  always  seems  to 
be  the  case,  the  fact  that  he,  himself,  had  been 
in  the  wrong  to  begin  with,  only  exasperated 
him  the  more. 

The  result  was  what  any  one  might  have  ex- 
pected. 

Hardly  had  Connor  turned  the  corner  out  of 


Tom   Connor's  Scare  219 

sight,  than  there  appeared,  "  snooping  "  up  the 
street,  that  sheep  in  wolfs  clothing,  Long  John 
Butterfield.  Instantly  Yetmore's  resolution  was 
taken.  Seizing  a  broom,  he  stepped  outside  and 
made  pretense  to  sweep  the  sidewalk,  and  as 
Long  John,  with  a  casual  nod,  sauntered  past,  the 
angry  storekeeper  caught  his  eye  and  whispered  : 

"  I've  reconsidered.     Go  ahead." 

"  Bully  for  you,"  replied  the  other  in  a  low 
tone  ;  and  passed  on. 

No  one  would  have  guessed  that  in  that  brief 
instant  a  criminal  act  had  been  arranged.  Nor 
did  Tom  Connor,  as  he  went  chuckling  up  the 
street,  guess  that  by  his  lawless  recovery  of  the 
widow's  property  he  had  given  Yetmore  the  ex- 
cuse he  longed  for  to  defy  the  law  himself 
Least  of  all  did  any  of  them — not  even  Long 
John — guess  that  between  them  they  were  to 
come  within  an  ace  of  snuffing  out  the  lives  of 
two  innocent  outsiders,  namely,  Joe  Garnier  and 
myself  Yet  such  was  the  case.  It  was  only  the 
accidental  putting  in  of  Tom's  second  window 
that  saved  us. 

Long  John,  being  authorized  to  proceed,  at 
once  made  his  preparations,  which  were  simple 
enough,  and   all  he  wanted  now  was  an  oppor- 


2  20      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

tunity.  By  an  unlooked-for  chance,  which,  with 
his  perverted  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  seemed 
to  him  to  be  providential,  his  opportunity  turned 
up  that  very  night. 

The  miner,  George  Simpson,  hastening  home- 
ward from  Connor's  house,  happened  to  overtake 
Long  John  in  the  street,  and  as  he  passed  gave 
him  a  friendly  "  Good-night." 

*'  Good-night,"  said  John.  "  You're  late  to- 
night, aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  bit  late.  One  of  our  men's  sick,  and 
I've  been  fixing  things  so's  he  won't  lose  his  job. 
Tom  Connor  and  I  are  going  to  work  his  shift 
for  him." 

**  So  !  "  cried  Long  John,  with  sudden  interest. 
"Which  half  do  you  take?" 

"  The  second.  Tom's  gone  off  already,  and 
I'm  going  to  relieve  him  at  eleven.  So  I  must 
be  getting  along  :  I  want  my  supper  and  two  or 
three  hours'  sleep." 

So  Tom  would  be  out  of  his  house  till  eleven 
o'clock  !  Such  a  chance  might  never  occur  again. 
Long  John  hastened  home  at  once  and  got  every- 
thing ready. 

As  it  would  not  do  to  start  too  early,  because 
people  might  be  about,  John  waited  till  nearly  ten 


Tom   Connor's  Scare  221 

o'clock,  and  then  sallied  out.  As  he  rounded 
the  corner  of  his  shack  a  furious  blast  of  wind, 
driving  the  rain  before  it,  almost  knocked  him 
over. 

"  Good  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There  won't  be  a 
soul  out  o'  doors  to-night." 

With  his  head  bent  to  the  storm  and  his  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  ears,  John  made  his  way 
through  alleys  and  bye-streets  to  the  edge  of 
town,  and  then  set  off  across  the  intervening 
empty  space  towards  the  house  where  Joe  and  I 
were  at  that  moment  playing  our  last  game  of 
checkers.  As  he  approached,  he  saw  dimly 
through  the  blur  of  rain  the  light  of  two  win- 
dows. 

"  Good  !  "  he  exclaimed  a  second  time.  "  Old 
Snyder  not  gone  to  bed  yet.  Mighty  kind  of  the 
old  gent  to  leave  his  light  burning  for  me  to 
steer  by.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him  I'd  'a'  had  a 
job  to  tell  which  was  the  right  house.  As  it  is, 
I've  borne  more  to  the  right  than  I  thought." 

At  this  moment  the  town  clock  struck  ten, 
and  almost  immediately  afterwards  the  light  in 
the  windows  went  out. 

"  Never  mind,"  remarked  John  to  himself. 
"I  know  where  I  am  now." 


222      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Advancing  a  little  further,  he  caught  sight  of 
the  dim  outline  of  the  house  through  the  rain, 
and  turning  short  to  his  left,  he  measured  off 
one  hundred  steps  along  the  empty  street,  a  dis- 
tance which  brought  him  opposite  the  next  house 
to  the  east. 

All  was  dark  and  silent,  as  he  had  expected, 
but  to  make  sure  he  approached  the  house  and 
thumped  upon  the  door.  There  was  no  repl3^ 
Again  he  thumped  and  struck  the  door  sharply 
with  the  handle  of  his  knife.     Silence  ! 

"  He's  out  all  right,"  muttered  John.  "  Was 
there  ever  such  a  lucky  chance?  Howling 
wind,  driving  rain,  dark  as  the  ace  of  spades, 
and  Tom  Connor  not  coming  back  for  an  hour !  " 

Dark  it  surely  was.  The  night  was  black. 
Not  a  glimmer  of  light  in  any  direction.  Even 
the  town  itself,  only  a  quarter-mile  away,  seemed 
to  have  been  blotted  from  the  face  of  the 
earth. 

As  he  had  noticed  in  coming  across  the  flats 
that  there  were  lights  still  burning  in  two  of  the 
other  houses,  the  patient  plotter,  in  order  to  give 
the  inmates  a  chance  to  get  to  bed  and  to  sleep, 
sat  waiting  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  building 
for  a  full  half  hour.     At  the  end  of  that  time. 


Tom   Connor's  Scare 


223 


however,  he  arose,  moved  along  a  few  steps,  and 
then,  going  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  crept 
under  the  house.  Ten  minutes  later  he  came 
crawling  out  again,  feet  foremost.  Once  out- 
side, he  struck  a  match,  and  sheltering  it  in  his 
cupped  hands  he  applied  the  flame  to  the  end 
of  something  which  looked  like  a  long,  stiff 
cord  about  as  thick  as  a  lead  pencil.  Presently 
there  was  a  sharp  *'  spit "  from  the  ignited 
"  cord,"  blowing  out  the  match  and  causing 
John  to  shake  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  pain, 
as  though  it  had  been  scorched. 

Next  moment  Long  John  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  fled  away  into  the  darkness ;  not  straight 
across  lots  as  he  had  come,  but  by  a  roundabout 
way  which  would  bring  him  into  town  from  the 
eastern  side. 

Then,  for  two  minutes,  except  for  the  roaring 
of  the  wind,  all  was  silence. 

Joe  and  I  were  sound  asleep  on  the  floor  of 
Tom's  back  room,  when  by  a  single  impulse  we 
both  sprang  out  of  bed  with  an  irrepressible  cry 
of  alarm,  and  stood  for  a  moment  trembling  and 
clinging  to  each  other  in  the  darkness.  The 
sound  of  a  frightful  explosion  was  ringing  in 
our  ears  I 


2  24      '^^^  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  What  was  it,  Joe?  "  I  cried.  "  Which  direc- 
tion ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  my  companion  replied.  *'  I 
hope  it  isn't  an  accident  up  at  the  Pelican. 
Let's  get  into  our  clothes,  Phil." 

Lighting  the  lamp,  we  quickly  dressed,  and 
putting  on  our  hats  and  overcoats  we  went  out 
into  the  storm.  All  was  dark,  except  that  in 
the  windows  of  each  of  the  occupied  houses  in 
the  row  we  could  see  a  light  shining.  The 
whole  street  had  been  roused  up. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  powder-magazine,"  Joe 
shouted  in  my  ear,  "  Or  else  the  boiler  in  the 
engine-house  of  the  Pelican.  What  do  you  say, 
Phil?  Shall  we  go  up  there?  We  might  be 
able  to  help." 

"  Yes,  come  on  !  "  I  cried.  "  Let's  go  and  see 
first,  though,  if  Tom  hasn't  a  second  lantern. 
We  shall  save  time  by  it  if  he  has." 

Our  hurried  search  for  a  lantern  was  vain, 
however,  so  we  determined  to  set  off  without 
one.  As  we  closed  the  door  behind  us,  our 
clock  struck  eleven,  and  a  moment  later  we 
heard  faintly  the  eleven  o'clock  whistle  up  at 
the  Pelican. 

"Good!"   cried    Joe.     "It    isn't    the    boiler 


Tom  Connor's  Scare  225 

blown  up,  anyhow,  so  Tom's  safe ;  for  he  is 
working  underground  and  the  explosion,  what- 
ever it  was,  was  on  the  surface." 

With  bent  heads  we  pushed  our  way  against 
the  wind,  until,  looking  up  presently,  I  saw  the 
light  of  a  lantern  coming  quickly  towards  us. 

"  Here's  Tom,  Joe,"  I  shouted.     "  Pull  up  !  " 

We  stopped,  and  as  the  light  swiftly  ap- 
proached we  detected  the  beating  footsteps  of  a 
man  running  furiously. 

"  Then  there  is  an  accident !  "  cried  Joe.  "  Ho, 
Tom  !     That  you  ?  "  he  shouted. 

It  was  Tom,  who,  suddenly  stopping,  held  the 
lantern  high,  looking  first  at  one  and  then  at 
the  other  of  us.  He  was  still  in  his  miner's  cap 
and  slicker,  his  face  was  as  white  as  a  ghost's, 
and  he  was  so  out  of  breath  that  for  a  moment 
he  could  not  speak. 

"  Hurt,  Tom?"  I  cried,  in  alarm. 

'<  No," — with  a  gasp. 

"  Anybody  hurt?  " 

"  No." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  Scared  !  "  And  then,  still  panting  violently  : 
"  Come  to  the  house,"  said  he. 

Once  inside,  I  brought  Tom  a  dipper  of  water, 


2  26      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

which  quickly  restored  him,  when,  turning  his 
still  blanched  face  towards  us,  he  said  : 

"  Boys,  I've  had  the  worst  scare  of  my  life  ! '' 

"  How,  Tom  ?  "  I  asked.  "  That  explosion  ? 
Was  it  up  at  the  Pelican  ?  " 

"  No,  it  wasn't ;  and  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  it  until  I  came  up  at  eleven,  when  George, 
who  was  waiting  to  go  on,  told  me  there  had 
been  a  heav}^  explosion  down  in  the  direction  of 
my  house.  When  he  told  me  that,  there  rushed 
into  my  head  all  of  a  sudden  an  idea  which 
nearly  knocked  me  over — it  was  like  a  blow 
from  a  hammer.  I  grabbed  the  lantern,  which 
I  had  just  lighted,  and  ran  for  it.  Can  you 
guess  what  I  expected  to  find?" 

We  shook  our  heads. 

"  I  expected  to  find  my  house  blown  to  pieces, 
and  you  two  boys  lying  dead  out  in  the  rain  1  " 

We  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Look  here,  boys,"  Tom  went  on.  ''  When 
George  Simpson  told  me  there  had  been  an  ex- 
plosion down  this  way,  it  came  into  my  head 
all  at  once  that  Yetmore  or  Long  John — prob- 
ably Long  John — had  heard  that  I  was  out  at 
work  to-night,  and  not  knowing  that  you  were 


Tom   Connor's  Scare 


227 


staying  the  night  with  me,  had  come  and 
wrecked  my  house." 

"  But  why  should  they  ?  "  Joe  asked. 

"  So  as  to  prevent  my  raising  money  on  it, 
and  so  keep  me  tied  up  in  town  while  they 
skipped  out  to  look  for  that  vein  of  galena.  I'm 
glad  to  find  I  was  wrong.     I  did  'em  an  in " 

He  stopped  short,  and  following  his  gaze,  we 
saw  that  he  was  staring  at  the  second  window. 

"  When  did  you  put  that  in  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Just  after  you  left.  We  finished  by  nine 
o'clock." 

"  How  soon  did  you  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"Just  after  ten." 

"  Come  with  me  !  "  cried  Tom,  springing  from 
his  chair  and  seizing  the  lantern.  "  I  know 
what's  happened  now  !  " 

With  us  two  close  at  his  heels,  he  led  the  way 
to  the  spot  where  Yetmore's  empty  house  had 
stood.  Not  a  vestige  of  it  remained,  except  the 
upper  part  of  the  chimney,  which  lay  prone  in 
the  great  hole  dug  out  by  the  violence  of  the 
explosion. 

"  Boys,"  said  Tom,  in  a  tone  of  unusual 
gravity,  "if  you  live  a  hundred  years  you'll 
never  have  a  narrower  squeak  than  you've  had 


228      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

to-night.  If  Long  John  did  this — and  I'm 
pretty  sure  he  did — he  meant  to  blow  up  my 
house,  but  being  misled  by  those  two  windows, 
he  has  blown  up  Yetmore's  house  instead.  You 
never  did,  and  I  doubt  if  you  ever  will  do,  a 
better  stroke  of  work  in  your  lives  than  when 
you  put  in  my  second  window  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 
The  Ore-Theft 

AT  half  past  five  next  morning  Joe  and  I 
slipped  out  of  bed,  leaving  Tom  Connor,  who 
had  to  go  to  work  again  at  seven,  still  fast 
asleep.  While  Joe  quietly  prepared  breakfast,  I 
went  out  to  examine  by  daylight  the  scene  of 
last  night's  explosion. 

The  first  discovery  I  made  was  the  imprint  in 
the  mud  of  footsteps,  half  obliterated  by  the  rain. 
The  tracks  were  very  large  and  very  far  apart, 
proving  that  the  owner  of  the  boots  that  made 
them  was  a  big  man,  and  that  he  had  gone  off 
at  a  great  pace  ;  a  discovery  which  tended  to 
confirm  in  my  mind  Tom's  guess  that  it  was 
indeed  Long  John  who  had  done  the  mischief. 

At  this  moment  the  tenant  of  the  house  next 
to  the  east  came  out — Hughy  Hughes  was  his 
name  ;  a  Welshman — and  as  he  walked  towards 
me  I  saw  him  stoop  to  pick  up  something. 

"  That  was  a  rascally  piece  of  work,  wasn't 
it  ?  "  said  he,  as  he  joined  me.  "  Scared  us  'most 
to  death,  it  did.  See,  here's  the  fuse  he  used. 
229 


230      The   Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

I  just  picked  it  up  ;  fifteen  feet  of  it.  Wonder 
who  the  fellow  was.  Pretty  state  of  things  when 
folks  take  to  blowing  up  each  other's  houses. 
Like  enough  Yetmore  has  his  enemies,  but  it's  a 
pretty  mean  enemy  as  'd  try  to  get  even  by  any 
such  scalawag  trick  as  this." 

This  speech  enlightened  me  as  to  what  would 
be  the  general  theory  regarding  the  outrage. 
It  would  be  set  down  as  an  act  of  revenge  on 
the  part  of  some  enemy  of  Yetmore's  ;  and  so 
Tom  and  Joe  thought,  too,  when  I  went  back 
to  the  house  and  told  them  about  it, 

"  That'll  be  the  theory,  all  right,"  said  Tom. 
"  And  as  far  as  I  see,  we  may  as  well  let  it  go  at 
that.  We  have  no  evidence  to  present,  and  it 
would  look  rather  like  malice  on  our  part  if  we 
were  to  charge  Long  John  with  blowing  his  best 
friend's  house  to  pieces  just  because  we  happen 
to  suspect  him  of  it.  And  so,  I  guess,  boys,  we 
may  as  well  lay  low  for  the  present :  we  shan't 
do  any  good  by  putting  forward  our  own  theo- 
ries. 

"  I  dare  say,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's 
reflection,  "  I  dare  say,  if  we  were  to  go  around 
telling  what  we  thought  and  why  we  thought  it, 
we  might  influence  public  opinion  ;  but,  when 


The  Ore-Theft  231 

you  come  to  think  of  it,  we  have  no  real  proof ; 
so  we'll  just  hold  our  tongues.  Are  you  in  a 
hurry  to  get  home  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  We  shan't  be  able  to  plow 
for  two  days  at  the  very  least,  so  there  is  noth- 
ing to  hurry  home  for." 

''  Well,  then,"  said  Tom,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
Avish  you'd  do.  I  must  go  back  to  work  in  a 
few  minutes,  but  I  wish  you  two  would  go  down 
town  and  hear  what  folks  have  to  say  about  this 
business,  and  then  come  back  here  and  have 
dinner  with  me  at  twelve.     Will  you  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  I.     "  We'll  do  that." 

We  found  the  town  in  a  great  state  of  excite- 
ment. Everybody  was  talking  about  the  explo- 
sion, which,  as  the  newspaper  said,  "  would  cast 
a  blight  upon  the  fair  fame  of  Sulphide."  Yet- 
more's  store  was  crowded  with  people,  shaking 
hands  with  him  and  expressing  their  indignation 
at  the  outrage ;  the  universal  opinion  being,  as 
we  had  anticipated,  that  some  miscreant  had 
done  it  out  of  revenge. 

Joe  and  I,  squeezing  in  with  the  rest,  presently 
found  ourselves  near  the  counter,  when  Yet- 
more,  catching  my  eye,  nodded  to  me  and 
said  : 


232      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"How  are  you,  Phil?  I  didn't  know  you 
were  in  town." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  we  came  in  last  evening  and 
spent  the  night  in  Tom  Connor's  house." 

Yetmore  started  and  turned  pale. 

"In  Tom  Connor's  house?"  he  repeated, 
huskily. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  We  were  asleep  in  his 
back  room  when  that  explosion  woke  us  up." 

At  this  Yetmore  stared  at  me  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  as  he  realized  how  narrowly  he  had 
missed  being  party  to  a  murder,  he  turned  a 
dreadful  white  color,  staggered,  and  I  believe 
might  have  fallen  had  he  not  sat  himself  down 
quickly  upon  a  sack  of  potatoes. 

A  draft  of  water  soon  brought  back  his  color, 
when,  addressing  the  sympathizing  crowd,  Yet- 
more said  : 

"  It  made  me  feel  a  bit  sick  to  think  what 
chances  these  boys  ran  last  night.  Every  one 
knows  how  hard  it  is  to  tell  those  houses  apart  ; 
and  that  fellow  might  easily  have  made  a  mis- 
take and  blown  up  Tom  Connor's  house  on  one 
side  or  Hughy  Hughes'  on  the  other." 

"Yes,"  said  I ;  "  and  all  the  more  so  as  Joe 
and  I  last  evening  put  a  second  window  into 


The  Ore-Theft  233 

Tom's  house,  so  that  any  one  coming  across  lots 
after  dark  might  just  as  well  have  taken  Tom's 
house  for  old  Snyder's." 

"  Phew  !  "  whistled  one  of  the  men  in  the 
crowd.  "  Then  it's  Hughy  Hughes  that's  to  be 
congratulated.  If  that  rascal  had  made  such  a 
mistake,  and  had  chosen  the  second  house  from 
Tom's  instead  of  the  second  house  from  Snyder's 
we'd  have  been  making  arrangements  for  six 
funerals  about  now.  Hughy  has  four  children, 
hasn't  he?  " 

I  could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  Yetmore. 
Convinced  as  I  was  that  he  had  at  least  connived 
in  a  plot  to  destroy  Tom's  house,  I  felt  sure  that 
he  had  been  far  from  intending  personal  injury 
to  any  one ;  and  I  felt  sure,  too,  that  he  was 
thoroughly  sincere,  when,  rising  from  his  seat 
and  addressing  the  assemblage,  he  said  : 

"  Men,  I'm  sorry  to  lose  my  house,  of  course — 
that  goes  without  saying — but  when  I  think  of 
what  might  have  happened  it  doesn't  trouble  me 
that  much  " — snapping  his  finger  and  thumb. 
"  I  tell  you,  men,  I'm  downright  thankful  it 
was  my  house  that  was  blown  up  and  nobody 
else's." 

As  he  said  this  he  looked  at  Joe  and  me,  and 


2  34      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

I  felt  convinced  that  it  was  to  us  and  not  to  the 
assembled  throng  that  he  addressed  his  remark. 
The  people,  however,  not  knowing  what  we  did, 
loudly  applauded  the  magnanimity  of  the  senti- 
ment, and  many  of  them  pressed  forward  to 
shake  hands  again. 

Yetmore  had  never  been  so  popular  as  he  was 
at  that  moment.  Everybody  sympathized  with 
him  over  his  loss  ;  everybody  admired  the  digni- 
fied way  in  which  he  accepted  it ;  and  everybody 
would  have  been  delighted  to  hear  that  some 
compensating  piece  of  good  fortune  had  befallen 
him. 

Strange  to  say,  at  that  very  moment  that  very 
thing  happened. 

Suddenly  we  were  all  attracted  by  a  distant 
shouting  up  the  street.  Looking  through  the 
front  window,  we  saw  that  all  the  people  outside 
had  turned  and  were  gazing  in  that  direction. 
By  one  impulse  everybody  in  the  store  surged 
out  through  the  doorways,  when  we  saw,  still 
some  distance  away,  a  man  running  down  the 
middle  of  the  street,  waving  his  cap  and  shout- 
ing some  words  we  could  not  distinguish.  We 
were  all  on  tiptoe  with  expectation. 

At  length  the  man  approached,  broke  through 


The  Ore-Theft  235 

the  group,  ran  up  to  Yetmore,  who  was  standing 
on  his  door-step,  shook  hands  with  him,  and  then 
turning  round,  he  shouted  out : 

"  Great  strike  in  the  Pelican,  boys  !  In  the 
old  workings  above  the  fifth — Yetmore's  lease. 
One  of  those  pockets  of  tellurium  that's  never 
been  known  to  run  less  than  twenty  thousand 
to  the  ton.     Hooray  for  Yetmore  !  " 

The  shout  that  went  up  was  genuinely  hearty. 
Once  more  the  mayor  was  mobbed  by  his  en- 
thusiastic fellow  citizens  and  once  more  he  shook 
hands  till  his  arm  ached — during  which  pro- 
ceeding Joe  and  I  slipped  away. 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  I  heard  my  name 
called,  and  turning  round  I  saw  a  man  on  horse- 
back who  handed  me  a  letter. 

"  I've  just  come  up  through  your  place,"  said 
he,  "  and  your  father  asked  me  to  give  you  this 
if  I  should  see  you." 

The  note  was  to  the  effect  that  the  rain  had 
been  heavy  on  the  ranch,  no  plowing  was  possi- 
ble, and  so  we  were  to  stay  in  town  that  day  and 
come  down  on  the  morrow  after  the  mail  from 
the  south  came  in,  as  he  was  expecting  an  im- 
portant letter,  and  it  would  thus  save  another 
trip  up  and  down. 


236       The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

We  were  glad  enough  to  do  this,  so,  making 
our  way  up  the  street  past  the  knots  of  people, 
all  talking  over  and  over  again  the  two  exciting 
topics  of  the  day,  we  retraced  our  steps  to  Tom's 
house,  where  we  got  ready  the  dinner  against 
Tom's  return.  Shortly  after  twelve  he  came  in, 
when  we  related  to  him  what  we  had  learned  in 
town  ;  demanding  in  our  turn  particulars  of  the 
great  strike. 

''  It's  a  rich  strike,  all  right,"  said  Tom,  *'  but 
there  isn't  much  of  it — about  five  hundred 
pounds— just  a  pocket,  and  not  a  very  large  one. 
But  it  is  very  rich  stuff,  carrying  over  three 
thousand  ounces  of  silver  and  a  thousand  of  gold 
to  the  ton.  The  five  hundred  pounds  should 
be  worth  ten  or  twelve  dollars  a  pound.  They've 
found  the  same  stuff  several  times  before  in  the 
Pelican,  always  unexpectedly  and  always  in 
pockets." 

"  Then,"  remarked  Joe,  "  Yetmore  will  have 
made,  perhaps,  six  thousand  dollars  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Tom ;  "  he  won't  have  done 
anything  of  the  sort ;  though  I  don't  wonder  you 
should  think  so  after  the  way  the  people  have 
been  carrying  on  down  town.     They've  just  been 


The  Ore-Theft  237 

led  away  by  their  enthusiasm.  Most  of  'em 
know  the  terms  of  Yetmore's  lease  well  enough, 
but  they  have  forgotten  them  for  the  moment. 
Yetmore  pays  the  company  a  certain  percentage 
of  all  the  ore  he  gets  out,  and  it  is  specially  pro- 
vided in  the  lease  that  should  he  come  upon  any 
of  the  well-known  tellurium  ore,  the  company  is 
to  have  three-fifths  of  the  proceeds  and  Yetmore 
only  two-fifths.  He'll  make  a  good  thing  out  of 
it  though,  anyway." 

"  You  say  there's  about  five  hundred  pounds 
of  the  ore  :  have  they  taken  it  all  out  already  ?  " 
asked  Joe. 

"  Yes,  taken  it  out,  sorted  it,  sacked  it  in  lit- 
tle fifty-pound  sacks,  sewed  up  the  sacks  and 
piled  them  in  one  of  the  drifts,  all  ready  to  ship 
down  to  San  Remo  to-morrow  by  express." 

"  Why  do  they  leave  it  in  the  mine  ?  "  I  asked. 
''Is  it  safer  than  taking  it  down  to  the  express 
office  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  it  would  be  pretty  difficult  to  steal  it 
out  of  the  mine,  with  all  the  lights  going  and  all 
the  miners  about,  whereas,  if  it  was  just  stacked 
in  the  express  office,  somebody  might- " 

"  Somebody  might  cut  a  hole  in  the  floor  and 
drop  it  through,"  remarked  Joe,  laughing. 


238      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  That's  so,"  said  Tom,  adding,  "  I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  boys  :  I  begin  to  think  I  wasn't  quite 
so  smart  as  I  thought  I  was  when  I  got  back 
that  coal  oil  for  the  widow.  I  wouldn't  wonder 
a  particle  if  it  wasn't  just  that  that  decided  Yet- 
more  to  come  and  blow  my  house  to  smith- 
ereens." 

''  I  shouldn't  either,"  said  Joe. 

Tom  having  departed  to  his  work  again,  Joe 
and  I  once  more  went  into  town,  where  we  spent 
the  time  going  about,  listening  to  the  talk  of  the 
people,  who  were  still  standing  in  groups  on  the 
street  corners,  discussing  the  great  events  of  the 
day. 

But  if  the  people  were  excited,  as  they  cer- 
tainly were,  their  excitement  was  a  mere  flutter 
in  comparison  with  the  storm  which  swept  over 
the  community  next  morning. 

The  ten  sacks  of  high-grade  ore  had  been 
stolen  during  the  night ! 

The  news  came  down  about  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  when,  at  once,  and  with  one  ac- 
cord, all  the  men  in  the  place  who  could  get 
away  swarmed  up  to  the  Pelican — we  among 
them. 

The  thief,  whoever  he  was,  was  evidently  fa- 


The  Ore-Theft  239 

miliar  with  the  workings  of  the  mine,  for,  going 
round  into  Stony  Gulch,  he  had  forced  the  door 
at  the  exit  of  the  old  tunnel,  cutting  out  the 
staple  with  auger  and  saw,  and  then,  clamber- 
ing through  the  disused,  waste-encumbered 
drifts,  he  had  carried  out  the  little  sacks  one  by 
one  and  made  away  with  them  somehow. 

Wrapping  his  feet  in  old  rags  in  order  to  dis- 
guise his  footprints,  he  had  taken  the  sacks  of 
ore  across  the  gulch  to  the  stony  ground  be- 
yond, where  his  boots  would  leave  no  im- 
pression, and  there  all  trace  of  him  was  lost. 
Whether  he  had  buried  the  sacks  somewhere 
near  by,  or,  if  not,  how  he  had  managed  to  spirit 
them  away,  were  matters  of  general  speculation  ; 
though  to  most  minds  the  question  was  settled 
when  one  of  Yetmore's  clerks  came  hastily  up 
to  the  mine  and  called  out  that  the  roan  pony 
and  the  two-wheeled  delivery  cart,  used  to  carry 
packages  up  to  the  mines,  were  missing.  The 
thief,  seemingly,  had  not  only  stolen  Yetmore's 
ore,  but  had  borrowed  Yetmore's  horse  and  cart 
to  convey  it  away. 

If  this  were  true,  it  proved  that  the  thief  must 
have  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  country,  for, 
in  spite  of  the  heavy  rain  of  the  night  before, 


240      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

not  a  sign  of  a  wheel-mark  was  there  to  be 
found :  the  cart  had  been  conducted  over  the 
rocks  with  such  skill  as  to  leave  no  trace  what- 
ever. Cart,  pony,  ore  and  thief  had  vanished 
as  completely  as  though  the  earth  had  opened 
and  swallowed  them. 

At  first  everybody  sympathized  with  Yetmore 
over  his  loss,  but  presently  an  ugly  rumor  began 
to  get  about  when  people  bethought  them  of  the 
terms  of  the  lease.  Those  who  did  not  like  the 
storekeeper,  and  they  were  not  a  few,  began  to 
pull  long  faces,  nudge  each  other  with  their 
elbows,  and  whisper  together  that  perhaps  Yet- 
more  knew  more  of  this  matter  than  he  pre- 
tended. 

Joe  and  I  were  at  a  loss  to  understand  what 
they  were  driving  at,  until  one  man,  more  mali- 
cious or  less  discreet  than  the  others,  spoke  up. 

"  How  are  we  to  know,"  said  he,  "  that  Yet- 
more  didn't  steal  this  ore  himself?  Three-fifths 
of  it  belongs  to  the  company — he'd  make  a 
mighty  good  thing  by  it.  I'm  not  saying  he 
did  do  it,  but " 

He  ended  with  a  closing  of  one  eye  and  a 
sideways  jerk  of  his  head  more  expressive  than 
words. 


The  Ore-Theft  241 

'*  Oh,  that's  ridiculous ! "  Joe  blurted  out. 
"  Yetmore  isn't  over-scrupulous,  I  dare  say,  but 
he's  a  long  way  from  being  a  fool,  and  he'd 
never  make  such  a  blunder  as  to  steal  the  ore 
and  then  use  his  own  horse  and  cart  to  carry  it 
off." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man.  "It 
might  be  just  a  trick  of  his  to  put  folks  off  the 
scent." 

And  though  Joe  and  I,  for  our  part,  felt  sure 
that  Yetmore  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  we 
found  that  many  people  shared  this  man's  sus- 
picions ;  the  consequence  being  that  the  mayor's 
popularity  of  the  day  before  waned  again  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  arisen. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  the  mail- 
coach  from  the  south  came  in,  when  Joe  and  I, 
carrying  with  us  the  expected  letter  for  my 
father,  set  off  home  again  ;  little  suspecting — as 
how  should  we  suspect — that  the  ore-thief,  who- 
ever he  might  be,  was  about  to  render  us  a 
service  of  greater  value  by  far  than  the  ore  and 
the  cart  and  the  pony  combined. 

We  were  jogging  along  on  the  homeward 
road,  and  were  just  rounding  the  spur  of  Elk- 
horn  Mountain  which  divided  our  valley  from 


242      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Sulphide,  when  Joe  suddenly  laid  his  hand  on 
my  arm  and  cried :  "  Pull  up,  Phil.  Stop  a 
minute." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Get  down  and  come  back  a  few  steps,"  Joe 
answered;  and  on  my  joining  him,  he  pointed 
out  to  me  in  a  sandy  patch  at  the  mouth  of  a 
steep  draw  coming  in  from  the  left,  some  deeply- 
indented  wheel-marks. 

"  Well,  what  of  that,  Joe  ?  "  said  I,  laughing. 
**  Are  you  thinking  you've  found  the  trail  of 
the  ore-thief?" 

"  No,"  Joe  replied,  "  I'm  not  jumping  at  any 
such  conclusion  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it's  pos- 
sible. If  the  ore- thief  started  northward  from 
the  Pelican,  and  the  chances  are  he  did,  for  we 
know  he  carried  the  sacks  across  to  the  north 
side  of  Stony  Gulch,  this  would  be  the  natural 
place  for  him  to  come  down  into  the  road  ;  for 
it  is  plain  to  any  one  that  he  could  never  get  a 
loaded  cart — or  an  empty  one  either,  for  that 
matter — over  the  rocky  ridge  which  crowns  this 
spur.  If  he  was  making  his  way  north,  he  had 
to  get  into  the  road  sooner  or  later,  and  this 
gully  was  his  last  chance  to  come  down." 

"  That's  true,"  I  assented  ;  ''  and  this  cart — 


The  Ore-Theft  243 

it's  a  two-wheeler,  you  see — was  heavily  loaded. 
Look  how  it  cuts  into  the  sand." 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe ;  "  and  it  was  drawn  hy  one 
smallish  horse,  led  by  a  man  ;  a  big  man,  too  : 
look  at  his  tracks." 

"  But  the  ore-thief,  Joe,  had  his  feet  wrapped 
up  in  rags,  and  these  are  the  marks  of  a  number 
twelve  boot." 

**  Well,  you  don't  suppose  the  thief  would 
walk  over  this  rough  mountain  with  his  feet 
wrapped  up  in  rags,  do  you  ?  In  the  dark,  too. 
They'd  be  catching  against  everything.  No ; 
he  would  take  off  the  rags  as  soon  as  he  reached 
hard  ground  and  throw  them  into  the  cart ;  for 
it  is  not  to  be  expected  either  that  he  would 
leave  them  lying  on  his  trail  to  show  people 
which  way  he  had  gone." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  But  which  way  did  he 
go,  Joe  ;  across  the  road  or  down  it  ?  " 

"  Down  it.  See.  The  wheel-tracks  bear  to 
the  left.  And  if  you  want  evidence  that  he 
came  down  in  the  dark,  here  you  are.  Look 
how  one  wheel  skidded  over  this  half-buried, 
water- worn  boulder  and  slid  off  and  scraped  the 
spokes  against  this  projecting  rock.  Look  at 
the  blue  paint  it  left  on  the  rock." 


244      "^^^^  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

''  Blue  paint !  "  I  cried.  "  Joe,  Yetmore's  cart 
was  painted  blue  !  I  remember  it  very  well.  A 
very  strongly-built  cart,  as  it  had  to  be  to  scram- 
ble up  those  rough  roads  that  lead  to  the 
mines,  painted  blue  with  black  trimmings. 
Joe,  I  begin  to  believe  this  is  the  ore-thief,  after 
alL" 

"  It  does  look  like  it.  But  where  was  he  go- 
ing ?  Not  down  to  the  smelter  at  San  Remo, 
surely." 

"  Not  he,"  I  replied.  "  He  would  know  bet- 
ter than  that.  The  smelter  has  undoubtedly 
been  notified  of  the  robbery  by  this  time,  and 
the  character  of  the  Pelican  tellurium  is  so  well 
known  that  any  one  offering  any  of  it  for  sale 
would  have  to  give  a  very  clear  story  as  to  how 
he  came  by  it.  No ;  this  fellow  will  have  to 
hide  or  bury  the  ore  and  leave  it  lying  till  he 
thinks  the  robbery  is  forgotten  ;  and  even  then 
he  will  probably  have  to  dispose  of  it  at  a  dis- 
tance in  small  lots  or  broken  up  very  fine  and 
mixed  with  other  ore." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Joe,  "  we  shall  find  his 
trail  leaving  the  road  again  on  one  side  or  the 
other." 

"  I  expect  so.      We'll  keep  a  lookout.     But 


The  Ore-Theft  ,245 

come  on,  now,  Joe :  we  mustn't  delay  any 
longer." 

The  road  had  been  traveled  over  by  several 
vehicles  since  last  night,  and  the  trail  of  the 
cart  was  undistinguishable  with  any  certainty 
until  we  had  passed  the  point  where  the  high- 
way branched  off  to  the  right  to  go  down  to  San 
Remo  ;  after  which  it  appeared  again,  apparently 
headed  straight  for  the  ranch. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  can  have  crossed  our 
valley,  Phil?"  asked  my  companion. 

"  No,  I  expect  not,"  I  replied.  "  Keep  your 
eyes  open  ;  we  shall  find  the  tracks  going  off  to 
one  side  or  the  other  pretty  soon — to  the  left 
most  likely,  for  the  best  hiding-places  would  be 
up  in  the  mountains." 

Sure  enough,  after  traversing  a  bare,  rocky 
stretch  of  road,  we  found  that  the  tracks  no 
longer  showed  ahead  of  us.  The  man  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  hard  ground  to  turn  off.  Pull- 
ing up  our  ponies,  we  both  jumped  to  the  ground 
once  more,  and  going  back  a  short  distance,  we 
made  a  cast  on  the  western  side  of  the  road.  In 
a  few  minutes  Joe  called  out : 

"  Here  we  are,  Phil !  See  !  The  wheel  touched 
the  edge  of  this  little  sandy  spot,  and  if  you 


246      The  Boys  of  Crawford*s  Basin 

look  ahead  about  forty  yards  you'll  see  where  it 
ran  over  an  ant-hill.  It  seems  as  though  he 
were  heading  for  our  caiion.  Do  you  think 
that's  likely?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  I  think  it  is  very  likely. 
There  is  one  place  where  he  can  get  down,  you 
remember,  and  then,  by  following  up  the  bed  of 
the  stream  for  a  short  distance  he  will  come  to  a 
draw  which  will  lead  him  to  the  top  of  the 
Second  Mesa — -just  the  place  he  would  make  for. 
For,  to  any  one  knowing  the  country,  as  he  evi- 
dently does,  there  would  be  a  thousand  good 
hiding-places  in  which  to  stow  away  ten  small 
sacks  of  ore — you  might  search  for  years  and 
not  find  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe.  "  But  there's  the  horse  and 
cart,  Phil.     How  will  he  dispose  of  them?" 

"Oh,  that  will  be  easy  enough.  He  would 
tumble  the  cart  into  some  canon,  perhaps,  turn 
loose  the  horse,  and  be  back  in  Sulphide  before 
morning.  But  come  on,  Joe.  We  really  mustn't 
waste  any  more  time;  it's  getting  on  for  six 
now." 

It  was  fortunate  we  did  not  delay  any  longer, 
for  we  found  my  father  anxiously  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room,  wondering  what  was   keeping 


The  Ore-Theft  247 

us.  Without  heeding  our  explanation  at  the 
moment,  he  hastily  tore  open  the  letter  we  had 
brought,  read  it  through,  and  then  stepping  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  called  out : 

"  Get  your  things  on,  mother.  We  must  start 
at  once.  The  train  leaves  at  seven  forty-five. 
There's  no  time  to  lose." 

Turning  to  us,  he  went  on  :  "  Boys,  I  have 
to  go  to  Denver.  I  may  be  gone  five  or  six 
days — can't  tell  how  long.  I  leave  you  in 
charge.  If  you  can  get  at  the  plowing,  go 
ahead;  but  I'm  afraid  you  won't  have  the 
chance.  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  there's  another 
rain  coming — wettest  season  I  remember.  Joe, 
run  out  and  hitch  up  the  big  bay  to  the  buck- 
board.  Phil,  you  will  have  to  drive  down  to 
San  Remo  with  us  and  bring  back  the  rig.  Go 
in  and  get  some  supper  now  ;  it's  all  ready  on 
the  table." 

In  ten  minutes  we  were  off,  I  sitting  on  a  little 
trunk  at  the  back  of  the  carriage,  explaining  to 
my  father  over  his  shoulder  as  we  drove  along 
the  events  of  the  last  two  days,  and  how  it  was 
we  had  taken  so  much  time  coming  down  from 
Sulphide. 

"  It  certainly  does  look  as  though  the  thief 


248      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

had  come  down  this  way,"  said  he ;  "  and 
though  we  are  not  personally  concerned  in  the 
matter,  I  think  one  of  you  ought  to  ride  up  to 
Sulphide  again  on  Monday  and  give  your  in- 
formation. Hunt  up  Tom  Connor  and  tell  him. 
And  I  believe  " — he  paused  to  consider — "  j^es, 
I  believe  I  would  tell  Yetmore,  too.  I'm  sure 
he  is  not  concerned  in  this  robbery  ;  and  I'm 
even  more  sure  that  if  he  was  a  party  to  the 
blowing  up  of  that  house,  he  never  intended  any 
harm  to  you.  Yes,  I  think  I'd  tell  Yetmore. 
It  will  prove  to  him  that  we  bear  him  no  ill- 
will,  and  may  have  a  good  effect." 

Having  seen  them  off  on  the  train,  I  turned 
homeward  again,  going  slowly,  for  the  clouds 
were  low  and  it  was  very  dark.  The  conse- 
quence was  that  it  was  nearly  ten  by  the  time  I 
reached  the  ranch,  and  before  I  did  so  the  rain 
was  coming  down  hard  once  more. 

"  Wet  night,  Joe,"  said  I,  as  I  pulled  off 
my  overcoat.  "  No  plowing  for  a  week,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  I  expect  not,"  replied  my  companion.  "  It 
isn't  often  we  have  to  complain  of  too  much 
rain  in  Colorado,  but  we  are  certainly  getting  an 


The  Ore-Theft  249 

over  supply  just  now.  There's  one  man,  though, 
who'll  be  glad  of  it." 

"Who's  that?" 

"  That  ore-thief.  It  will  wash  out  his  tracks 
completely." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
The  Snow-Slide 

THE  rain,  which  continued  pretty  steadily 
all  day,  Sunday,  had  ceased  before  the 
following  morning,  when,  looking  through  the 
rifts  in  the  clouds  to  the  west  we  could  see  that 
a  quantity  of  new  snow  had  fallen  on  the  moun- 
tains. 

"  There'll  be  no  trouble  about  water  for  ir- 
rigating this  year,  Joe,"  said  I,  as  I  returned 
from  the  stable  after  feeding  the  horses.  "  There's 
more  snow  up  there,  I  believe,  than  I've  ever 
seen  before.  It  ought  to  last  well  into  the  sum- 
mer, especially  as  the  winds  have  drifted  the 
gluches  full  and  it  has  settled  into  solid  masses." 

"  Yes,  there  ought  to  be  a  good  supply,"  an- 
swered Joe,  who  was  busy  cooking  the  break- 
fast. "  Which  of  the  ponies  do  you  think  I  had 
better  take  this  morning,  Phil  ?     The  pinto  ?  " 

"  I  thought  so.  I've  given  him  a  good  feed 
of  oats.  He'll  enjoy  the  outing,  I  expect,  for 
he's  feeling  pretty  chipper  this  morning.  He 
250 


The  Snow-Slidc  251 

tried  to  nip  me  in  the  ribs  while  I  was  rubbing 
him  down.     He  needs  a  little  exercise." 

We  had  arranged  between  us  that  Joe  should 
ride  to  Sulphide  that  morning  to  see  Tom 
Connor  and  Yetmore,  as  my  father  had  directed  ; 
and  accordingly,  as  soon  as  he  could  get  off, 
away  he  went ;  the  pinto  pony,  very  fresh  and 
lively,  going  off  as  though  he  intended  to  gallop 
the  whole  distance. 

Left  to  myself,  I  first  went  up  to  measure  the 
flow  of  the  underground  stream,  according  to 
custom,  and  then,  taking  a  shovel,  I  went  to 
work  clearing  the  headgates  of  our  ditches, 
which  had  become  more  or  less  encumbered  with 
refuse  during  the  winter.  There  were  two  of 
them,  set  in  niches  of  the  rock  on  either  side  of 
the  pool ;  for,  to  irrigate  the  land  on  both  sides 
of  the  creek,  we  necessarily  had  to  have  two 
ditches.  I  had  been  at  it  only  a  few  minutes 
when  I  noticed  a  curious  booming  noise  in  the 
direction  of  the  mountains,  which,  continuing 
for  a  minute  or  two,  presently  died  out  again. 
From  my  position  close  under  the  wall  of  the 
Second  Mesa,  I  could  see  nothing,  and  though  it 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  peculiar  and  unusual 
sound,  I  concluded  that  it  was  only  a  storm 


252       The   Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

getting  up ;  for,  even  at  a  distance  of  seven 
miles,  we  could  often  hear  the  roaring  of  the 
wind  in  the  pine-trees. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  happening  to  look 
up  the  Sulphide  road,  I  was  rather  surprised  to 
see  a  horseman  coming  down,  riding  very  fast. 
He  was  about  a  mile  away  when  I  first  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  I  could  not  make  out  who  he 
was,  but  presently,  as  I  stood  watching,  a  slight 
bend  in  the  road  allowed  the  sunlight  to  fall 
upon  the  horse's  side,  when  I  recognized  the 
pinto.     It  was  Joe  coming  home  again. 

I  knew  very  well,  of  course,  that  he  could  not 
have  been  all  the  way  to  Sulphide  and  back  in 
so  short  a  time,  and  my  first  thought  was  that 
the  spirited  pony  was  running  away  with  him  ; 
but  as  he  approached  I  saw  that  Joe  was  leaning 
forward  in  the  saddle,  rather  urging  forward  his 
steed  than  restraining  him. 

"  What's  up?  "  I  thought  to  myself,  as  I  stood 
leaning  on  my  shovel.  "  Has  he  forgotten  some- 
thing? He  seems  to  be  in  a  desperate  hurry  if 
he  has :  Joe  doesn't  often  push  his  horse  like 
that.     Something  the  matter,  I'm  afraid." 

There  was  a  rather  steep  pitch  where  the  road 
came  down  into  our  valley,  and  it  was  a  regular 


The  Snow-Slide  253 

practice  with  us  to  descend  this  hill  with  some 
caution.  Here,  at  any  rate,  I  expected  Joe  to 
slacken  his  pace  ;  but  when  1  saw  him  come  fly- 
ing down  at  full  gallop,  where  a  false  step  by  the 
pony  would  endanger  both  their  necks,  I  knew 
there  was  something  the  matter,  and  flinging 
down  my  shovel,  I  ran  to  meet  him. 

"  What  is  it,  Joe  ?  "  I  cried,  as  soon  as  he  came 
within  hearing. 

Pulling  in  his  pony,  which,  poor  beast,  stood 
trembling,  with  hanging  head  and  legs  astraddle, 
the  breath  coming  in  blasts  from  its  scarlet  nos- 
trils, Joe  leaped  to  the  ground,  crying : 

"  A  snow-slide  !  A  fearful  great  snow-slide  I 
Right  down  on  Peter's  house  !  " 

For  a  moment  we  stood  gazing  at  each  other 
in  silence,  when  Joe,  speaking  very  rapidly, 
went  on  : 

"  We  must  get  up  there  at  once,  Phil :  we  may 
be  able  to  help  Peter.  Though  if  he  was  in  his 
house  when  the  slide  came  down,  I'm  afraid  we 
can  do  nothing.  His  cabin  must  be  buried  five 
hundred  feet  deep,  and  the  heavy  snow  will  pack 
like  ice  with  its  own  w^eight." 

"  We'll  take  a  couple  of  shovels,  anyhow,"  I 
cried.     "  Fll  get  'em.     Pull  your  saddle  off  the 


2  54      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

pinto,  Joe,  he's  used  up,  poor  fellow,  and  slap  it 
on  to  the  little  gray.  Saddle  my  pony,  too,  will 
you  ?  I'll  clap  some  provisions  into  a  bag  and 
bring  'em  along  :  there's  no  knowing  how  long 
we'll  be  gone  !  " 

"  All  right,"  replied  Joe.  And  without  more 
words,  he  turned  to  unsaddle  the  still  panting 
pony,  while  I  ran  to  the  house. 

In  five  minutes,  or  less,  we  were  under  way. 

"  Not  too  fast !  "  cried  Joe.  ''  We  mustn't  blow 
the  ponies  at  the  start.  It's  a  good  eight  miles 
up  to  Peter's  house." 

As  we  ascended  the  hill  and  came  up  on  top 
of  the  Second  Mesa,  I  was  able  to  see  for  the  first 
time  the  great  scar  on  the  mountain  where  the 
slide  had  come  down. 

"  Phew  !  "  I  whistled.  '*  It  was  a  big  one,  and 
no  mistake.     Did  you  see  it  start,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it  start.  I  happened  to  be  look- 
ing up  there,  thinking  it  looked  pretty  danger- 
ous, when  a  great  mass  of  snow  which  was  over- 
hanging that  little  cliff  up  there  near  the  saddle, 
fell  and  started  the  whole  thing.  It  seemed  to 
begin  slowly.  I  could  see  three  or  four  big 
patches  of  snow  fall  from  the  precipice  above 
Peter's  cabin  as  though  pushed  over,  and  then 


The  Snow-Slide  255 

the  whole  great  mass,  fifteen  feet  thick,  I  should 
think,  three  hundred  yards  wide  and  four  or 
five  times  as  long,  came  down  with  a  rush,  pour- 
ing over  the  cliff  with  a  roar  like  thunder.  I 
wonder  you  didn't  hear  it." 

"  I  did,"  I  replied,  remembering  the  noise  I 
had  taken  for  a  wind-storm,  "  but  being  under 
the  bluff*,  and  the  waterfall  making  so  much 
noise,  I  couldn't  hear  distinctly,  and  so  thought 
nothing  of  it.  Why  !  "  I  cried,  as  I  looked  again. 
"  There  used  to  be  a  belt  of  trees  running  diag- 
onally across  the  slope.     They're  all  gone  !  " 

"  Yes,  every  one  of  them.  There  were  some 
biggish  ones,  too,  you  remember ;  but  the  slide 
snapped  them  off"  like  so  many  carrots.  It  cut 
a  clean  swath  right  through  them,  as  you  see." 

"  Where  were  you,  Joe,  when  you  saw  it  come 
down  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  More  than  half  way  to  Sulphide.  I  came 
back  in  fifteen  minutes — four  miles." 

"  Poor  little  Pinto  !  No  wonder  he  was  used 
up!" 

We  had  been  riding  at  a  smart  lope,  side  by 
side,  while  this  conversation  was  going  on,  and 
in  due  time  we  reached  the  foot-hills.  Here  our 
pace  was  necessarily  much  reduced,  but  we  con- 


256      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

tinued  on  up  Peter's  creek  as  rapidly  as  possible 
until  the  gulch  became  so  narrow  and  rocky,  and 
so  encumbered  with  great  patches  of  snow,  that 
we  thought  we  could  make  better  time  on  foot. 

Leaving  our  ponies,  therefore,  we  went  scram- 
bling forward,  until,  about  half  a  mile  from  our 
destination,  Joe  suddenly  stopped,  and  holding 
up  his  hand,  cried  eagerly  : 

*'  Hark  !     Keep  quiet !     Listen  !  " 

"  Bow,  wow,  wow !  Bow,  wow,  wow,  wow, 
wow  !  "  came  faintly  to  our  ears  from  far  up  the 
mountain. 

"  It's  old  Sox  !  "  cried  Joe.  "  There  are  no 
dogs  up  here ! "  And  clapping  his  hands  on 
either  side  of  his  mouth,  he  gave  a  yell  which 
made  the  echoes  ring.  Almost  immediately  the 
sharp  report  of  a  rifle  came  down  to  us,  and  with 
a  spontaneous  cheer  we  plunged  forward  once 
more. 

It  was  hard  work,  for  we  were  about  nine 
thousand  feet  above  sea  level  ;  the  further  we 
advanced,  too,  the  more  snow  we  encountered, 
until  presently  we  found  the  narrow  valley  so 
blocked  with  it  that  we  had  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tain-spur on  one  side  to  get  around  it.  In  do- 
ing  so,   we   came   in   sight   of  the  cliff  behind 


The  Snow-Slide  257 

Peter's  house,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  we 
understood  what  a  snow-slide  really  meant. 

Reaching  half  way  up  the  thousand-foot 
precipice  was  a  great  slope  of  snow,  completely 
filling  the  end  of  the  valley ;  and  projecting 
from  it  at  all  sorts  of  angles  were  trees,  big  and 
little,  some  whole,  some  broken  off  short,  some 
standing  erect  as  though  growing  there,  some 
showing  nothing  but  their  roots.  At  the  same 
time,  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice  upward  to 
the  summit  of  the  ridge,  we  had  a  clear  view  of 
the  long,  bare  track  left  by  the  slide,  with  the 
snow-banks,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  thick,  still 
standing  on  either  side  of  it,  held  back  by  the 
trees. 

"  What  a  tremendous  mass  of  snow  !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. "  There  must  be  ten  million  tons  of 
it !  And  what  an  irresistible  power  !  Peter's 
house  must  have  been  crushed  like  an  egg- 
shell !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joe.  "  But  meanwhile  where's 
Peter?" 

Once  more  he  shouted  ;  and  this  time,  some- 
where straight  ahead  of  us,  there  was  an 
answering  shout  which  set  us  hurrying  forward 
again  with  eager  expectancy. 


258      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

At  the  same  moment,  up  from  the  ground 
flew  old  Sox,  perched  upon  the  root  of  an  in- 
verted tree,  where,  showing  big  and  black 
against  the  snow  bank  behind  him,  he  set  to 
work  to  bark  a  continuous  welcome  as  we 
struggled  forward  to  the  spot,  one  behind  the 
other. 

Beneath  a  tree,  stretched  on  a  mat  of  fallen 
pine-needles,  just  on  the  very  outer  edge  of  the 
slide,  lay  our  old  friend,  the  hermit,  who,  when 
he  saw  us  approaching,  raised  himself  on  his  el- 
bow, and  waving  his  other  hand  to  us,  called 
out  cheerily  : 

"  How  are  you,  boys  ?  Glad  to  see  you ! 
You're  welcome — more  than  welcome  !  " 

"Hurt,  Peter?"  cried  Joe,  running  forward 
and  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees  beside  the 
injured  man. 

''  A  trifle.  No  bones  broken,  I  believe,  but 
pretty  badl}^  bruised  and  strained,  especially  the 
right  leg  above  the  knee.  I  find  I  can't  walk 
— at  least  not  just  yet." 

"  How  did  you  escape  the  slide?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  I  had  warning  of  it,  luckily.  I  was 
up  pretty  early  this  morning  and  was  just  about 
to    leave  the  house,    when   a   dab   of  snow — a 


The  Snow-Slide  259 

couple  of  tons,  maybe — came  down  and  knocked 
off  my  chimney.  I  knew  what  that  meant,  and 
I  didn't  waste  much  time,  you  may  be  sure,  in 
getting  out.  I  grabbed  my  rifle  and  ran  for  it. 
I  was  hardly  out  of  my  door  when  the  roar  be- 
gan, and  you  may  guess  how  I  ran  then.  I  had 
reached  almost  this  spot  when  down  it  came. 
The  edge  of  it  caught  me  and  tumbled  me  about ; 
sometimes  on  the  surface,  sometimes  on  the 
ground ;  now  on  my  face  and  now  feet  upper- 
most, I  was  pitched  this  way  and  that  like 
a  cork  in  a  torrent,  till  a  big  tree — the  one  Sox 
is  sitting  on,  I  think — slapped  me  on  the  back 
with  its  branches  and  hurled  me  twenty  feet 
away  among  the  rocks.  It  was  then  I  got  hurt ; 
but  on  the  other  hand,  being  flung  out  of  the 
snow  like  that  saved  me  from  being  buried,  so  I 
can't  complain.  It  was  as  narrow  a  shave  as  one 
could  well  have." 

"  It  certainly  was,"  said  I.  "  And  did  you 
hold  on  to  the  rifle  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  though  why,  I  can't  say.  The  natural 
instinct  to  hold  on  to  something,  I  suppose. 
But  how  is  it  you  are  on  hand  so  promptly  ?  It 
did  occur  to  me  as  I  lay  here  that  one  of  you 
might  notice  that  there  had  been  a  slide  and  re- 


26o      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

member  me,  but  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
here  so  soon." 

"  Well,  that  was  another  piece  of  good  for- 
tune," I  replied.  "  Joe  saw  the  slide  come  down 
and  rode  a  four-mile  race  to  come  and  tell  me. 
We  did  not  lose  a  minute  in  getting  under  way, 
and  we  haven't  wasted  any  time  in  getting  here 
either.  But  now  we  are  here,  the  question  is  : 
How  are  we  going  to  get  you  out  ?  " 

"  Where  do  you  propose  to  take  me  ?  "  asked 
Peter. 

"  Down  to  our  house." 

For  a  brief  instant  the  hermit  looked  as 
though  he  were  going  to  demur ;  but  if  he  had 
entertained  such  an  idea,  he  thought  better  of  it, 
and  thanked  me  instead. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  said  he  ;  "  though  it 
gives  me  an  odd  sensation.  I  haven't  been  in- 
side another  man's  house  for  years." 

*'  Well,  don't  you  think  it's  high  time  you 
changed  your  habits?"  ask  Joe,  laughing. 
''  And  you  couldn't  have  a  better  opportunity— 
your  own  house  smashed  flat ;  yourself  helpless  ; 
and  we  two  all  prepared  to  lug  you  off  whether 
you  like  it  or  not." 

"  Well,"  said  Peter,  smiling  at  Joe's  threat, 


The  Snow-Slide  261 

''then  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  give  in.  You're 
very  kind,  though,  boys,"  he  added,  seriously, 
"  and  I'm  very  glad  indeed  to  accept  your  offer." 

"  Then  let  us  pitch  in  at  once  and  start  down- 
ward," said  Joe.  "  Do  you  think  you  could  walk 
with  help?" 

"  I  doubt  it ;  but  I'll  have  a  try." 

It  was  no  use,  though.  With  one  arm  over 
Joe's  shoulder  and  the  other  over  mine  he 
essayed  to  walk,  but  the  attempt  was  a  failure. 
His  right  leg  dragged  helplessly  behind ;  he 
could  not  take  a  step. 

'*  We've  got  to  think  of  some  other  way,"  said 
Joe,  as  Peter  once  more  stretched  himself  at  full 
length  upon  the  ground.     "  Can  we — — " 

But  here  he  was  interrupted. 

All  this  time,  Sox,  with  rare  backwardness, 
had  remained  perched  upon  his  tree-root,  look- 
ing on  and  listening,  but  at  this  moment  down 
he  flew,  alighted  upon  the  ground  near  Peter's 
head,  made  a  complete  circuit  of  his  master's  pros- 
trate form,  then  hopped  up  on  his  shoulder,  and 
having  promenaded  the  whole  length  of  his  body 
from  his  neck  to  his  toes,  he  shook  out  his 
feathers  and  settled  himself  comfortably  upon 
the  hermit's  left  foot. 


262      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

We  all  supposed  he  intended  to  take  a  nap, 
but  in  another  two  seconds  he  straightened  up 
again,  eyed  each  of  us  in  turn,  and,  with  an  air 
of  having  thought  it  all  out  and  at  last  decided 
the  matter  beyond  dispute,  he  remarked  in  a 
tone  of  gentle  resignation  : 

"  John  Brown's  body." 

Having  delivered  this  well-considered  opinion 
with  becoming  solemnity,  he  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed  a  rollicking  laugh,  as  though 
he  had  made  the  very  best  joke  that  ever  was 
heard. 

"  You  black  heathen,  Sox  !  "  cried  his  master. 
"  I  believe  you  would  laugh  at  a  funeral." 

"  Lies,"  said  Sox,  opening  one  eye  and  shut- 
ting it  again  ;  a  remark  which,  though  it  sounded 
very  much  as  though  intended  as  an  insult  to 
Peter,  was  presumably  but  the  continuation  of 
his  previous  quotation. 

"  Get  out,  you  old  rascal !  "  cried  the  hermit, 
"  shooing  "  away  the  bird  with  his  hat.  "  Your 
conversation  is  not  desired  just  now."  And  as 
Sox  flew  back  to  his  perch,  Peter  continued  : 
"  How  far  down  did  you  leave  your  ponies, 
boys?" 

"  About  a  mile,"  I  replied. 


The  Snow-Slide  263 

"  Then  I  believe  the  best  way  will  be  for  one 
of  you  to  go  down  and  bring  up  one  of  the 
ponies.  I  can  probably  get  upon  his  back  with 
your  help,  and  then,  by  going  carefully,  I  believe 
we  can  get  down." 

"  All  right,"  said  Joe,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"  We'll  try  it.  I'll  go  down.  The  little  gray  is 
the  one,  Phil,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  The  little  gray's  the 
one ;  he's  more  sober-minded  than  my  pony  and 
very  sure-footed.     Bring  the  gray." 

Without  further  parley,  away  went  Joe,  and 
in  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  he  appeared 
again,  leading  the  pony  by  the  bridle. 

"  It's  pretty  rough  going,"  said  he,  "  but  I 
think  we  can  make  it  if  we  take  it  slowly.  The 
pony  came  up  very  well.  Now,  Peter  let's  see 
if  we  can  hoist  you  into  the  saddle." 

It  was  a  difficult  piece  of  work,  for  Peter, 
though  he  had  not  an  ounce  of  fat  on  his  body, 
was  a  pretty  heavy  man,  and  being  almost  help- 
less himself,  the  feat  was  not  accomplished  with- 
out one  or  two  involuntary  groans  on  the  part 
of  the  patient.  At  last,  however,  we  had  him 
settled  into  the  saddle,  when  Joe,  carrying  the 
rifle,  took  the  lead,  while  I,  with  the  two  shovels 


264      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

over  my  shoulder,  brought  up  the  rear.  In  this 
order  the  procession  started,  but  it  had  no  more 
than  started  when  Peter  called  to  us  to  stop. 

In  order  to  avoidgoing  up  the  hill  more  than  was 
necessary,  we  were  skirting  along  the  edge  of  the 
great  snow-bank,  when,  as  we  passed  just  beneath 
the  big  tree  upon  one  of  whose  roots  Socrates 
was  perched,  Peter,  looking  up  to  call  to  the 
bird,  espied  something  which  at  once  attracted 
his  attention. 

"Wait  a  moment,  boys,  will  you?"  he  re- 
quested, checking  the  pony  ;  and  then,  turning 
to  me,  he  continued  :  "  Look  up  there,  Phil. 
Do  you  see  that  black  stone  stuck  among  the 
roots  ?  Poke  it  out  with  the  shovel,  will  you  ? 
I  should  like  to  look  at  it." 

Wondering  rather  at  his  taking  any  interest 
in  stones  at  such  a  time,  I  nevertheless  obeyed 
his  behest,  and  with  two  or  three  vigorous  prods 
I  dislodged  the  black  fragment,  catching  it  in 
my  hand  as  it  fell ;  though  it  was  so  unexpect- 
edly heavy  that  I  nearly  let  it  drop. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Peter,  when  I  had  handed 
it  up  to  him.  "  Just  what  I  thought !  This  will 
interest  Tom  Connor." 

'*  Why  ?  "  we  both  asked.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 


The  Snow-Slide  265 

"  A  chunk  of  galena.  Look  1  Do  you  see  how 
it  is  made  up  of  shining  cubes  of  some  black 
mineral  ?  Lead — lead  and  sulphur.  There's  a 
vein  up  there  somewhere." 

"  And  the  big  tree,  pushing  its  roots  down 
into  the  vein,  has  brought  away  a  piece  of  it, 
eh  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  suppose.  There  are 
some  bits  of  light-colored  rock  up  there,  too, 
Phil.     Pry  out  one  or  two  of  those,  will  you?  " 

I  did  as  requested,  and  on  my  passing  them 
to  Peter,  he  said  : 

"  These  are  porphyry  rocks.  The  general  for- 
mation up  there  is  lime-stone,  I  know — I've 
noticed  it  frequently — but  I  expect  it  is  crossed 
somewhere — probably  on  the  line  of  the  belt  of 
trees — by  a  porphyry  dike.  Put  the  specimens 
into  your  pocket,  Joe ;  we  must  keep  them  to 
show  to  Connor.  It's  a  very  important  find. 
And  now  let  us  get  along." 

The  journey  down  the  gulch  was  very  slow 
and  very  difficult — we  made  hardly  a  mile  an 
hour — though,  when  we  left  the  mountain  and 
started  across  the  mesa  we  got  along  better. 
When  about  half  way,  I  left  the  others  and 
galloped  home,  where  I  lighted  a  fire  and  heated 


266      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

a  lot  of  water,  so  that,  when  at  length  Peter 
arrived,  I  had  a  steaming  hot  tubful  all  ready 
for  him  in  the  spare  room  on  the  ground  floor. 

Though  our  friend  protested  against  being 
treated  like  an  invalid,  declaring  his  belief  that 
he  would  be  about  right  again  by  morning,  he 
nevertheless  consented  to  take  his  hot  bath  and 
go  to  bed  ;  though  I  think  he  was  persuaded  to 
do  so  more  because  he  was  unwilling  to  disap- 
point us  after  all  our  preparations,  than  because 
lie  really  expected  to  derive  any  benefit. 

Uc  that  as  it  may — and  for  my  part  I  shall 
ill  ways  hold  that  it  was  the  hot  bath  that  did  it 
--when  we  went  into  Peter's  room  next  morn- 
ing, what  was  our  surprise  to  find  our  cripple 
up  and  dressed.  Though  his  right  leg  was  still 
so  stiff  as  to  be  of  little  use  to  him,  he  declined 
our  help,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  couple  of  broom- 
sticks propelled  himself  out  of  his  bedroom  and 
into  the  kitchen,  where  Joe  was  busy  getting 
the  breakfast  ready.  His  rapid  recovery  was 
astonishing  to  both  of  us  ;  though,  as  Joe  re- 
marked later,  we  need  not  be  so  very  much  sur- 
prised, for,  with  his  hardy  life  and  abstemious 
habits  he  was  as  healthy  as  any  wild  animal. 
As  we  sat  at  our  morning   meal,  we  talked 


The  Snow-Slide  267 

over  our  find  of  yesterday,  and  discussed  what 
was  the  proper  course  for  us  to  pursue. 

"  First,  and  most  important,"  said  Peter,  "  Tom 
Connor  must  be  notified.  We  must  waste  no 
time.  The  prospectors  are  beginning  to  get  out, 
and  any  one  of  them,  noticing  the  new  scar 
on  the  mountain,  might  go  exploring  up  there. 
When  does  Tom  quit  work  on  the  Pelican?" 

"  This  evening,"  replied  Joe.  '*  It  was  this 
evening,  wasn't  it,  Phil  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "He  was  to  quit  at  five 
this  evening,  and  his  intention  then  was  to  come 
down  here  next  day  and  make  this  place  his 
base  of  operations." 

"Then  the  thing  to  do,"  said  Joe,  "  is  for  me 
to  ride  up  there  this  morning — I  started  to  go 
yesterday,  you  know,  Peter — and  catch  Tom  up 
at  the  mine  at  noon.  When  he  hears  of  our 
discovery,  Pve  not  a  doubt  but  that  he  will 
pack  up  and  come  back  with  me  this  evening, 
so  as  to  get  a  start  first  thing  to-morrow." 

"  I  expect  he  will,"  said  I.  "And  while  you 
are  up  there,  Joe,  you  can  see  Yetmore  and  give 
him  your  information  about  those  cart-tracks." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Peter.  "  In- 
formation about  what  cart-tracks  ?  " 


268       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Oh,  you  haven't  heard  of  it,  of  course,"  said 
I ;  and  forthwith  I  explained  to  hirn  all  about 
the  ore-theft,  and  how  we  suspected  that  the 
thief  was  in  hiding  somewhere  in  the  foot-hills. 
Peter  listened  attentively,  and  then  asked  : 

"  Are  you  sure  there  was  only  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  the  general  supposition,"  I  re- 
plied.    -Why?" 

"  I  thought  there  might  be  a  pair  of  them, 
that's  all.  I'll  tell  you  an  odd  thing  that  hap- 
pened only  the  day  before  yesterday,  which  may 
or  may  not  have  a  bearing  on  the  case.  When 
I  got  home  about  dusk  that  evening,  I  found 
that  some  one  had  broken  into  my  house  and 
had  stolen  a  hind-quarter  of  elk,  a  box  of 
matches,  a  frying-pan,  and — of  all  queer  things 
to  select — a  bear-trap.  What  on  earth  any  one 
can  want  with  a  bear-trap  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  I  can't  think,  when  there  is  hardly  a  bear 
out  of  his  winter-quarters  yet ;  and  if  he  was 
he'd  be  as  thin  as  a  rail.  I  found  the  fellow's 
tracks  easily  enough — tall  man — big  feet — long 
stride — and  trailed  them  down  the  gulch  to  a 
point  where  another  man  had  been  sitting  on  a 
rock  waiting  for  him.  This  other  man's  track 
was  peculiar  :  he  was  lame — stepped  short  with 


The  Snovv-Slide  269 

his  right  foot,  and  the  foot  itself  was  out  of 
shape.  Their  trail  went  on  down  the  hill  to- 
wards the  mesa,  but  it  was  then  too  dark  to  fol- 
low it,  and  I  was  going  off  to  take  it  up  again 
next  morning  when  that  slide  came  down  and 
changed  my  programme." 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  who  had  sat  with  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  his  chin  on  his  hands,  listen- 
ing closely,  "  where  the  lame  man  springs  from 
I  don't  know,  but  if  they  should  be  the  ore- 
thieves  their  stealing  the  meat  and  the  frying- 
pan  was  a  natural  thing  to  do ;  for  if  they  are 
going  into  hiding  they  will  need  provisions." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Peter ;  *'  and  whether  they  knew 
of  my  place  before  or  came  upon  it  by  accident, 
they  would  probably  think  it  safer  to  steal  from 
me  than  to  raid  one  of  the  ranches  and  thus  risk 
bringing  all  the  ranchmen  about  their  ears  like 
a  swarm  of  hornets." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Joe.  "  Yes,  I  must  cer- 
tainly tell  Tom  and  Yetmore  about  them  :  it 
may  be  important.  And  I'll  start  at  once,"  he 
added,  rising  from  the  table  as  he  spoke.  "  I'll 
take  the  buckboard,  Phil,  and  then  I  can  bring 
back  Tom's  camp-kit  and  tools  for  him  ;  other- 
wise he  would  have  to  pack  them  on  his  pony 


270      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

and  walk  himself.      I   expect  you  will  see  us 
back  somewhere  about  seven  this  evening." 

With  that  he  went  out,  and  soon  afterwards 
we  heard  the  rattle  of  wheels  as  he  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  Big  Reuben  Vein 

BUT  it  seemed  as  though  Joe  were  destined 
never  to  get  to  Sulphide.  I  was  still  in 
the  kitchen,  when,  not  more  than  twenty  min- 
utes later,  I  heard  the  rattle  of  wheels  again, 
and  looking  out  of  the  window,  there  I  saw  my 
partner  by  the  stable  tying  up  his  horse. 

"  Hallo,  Joe  ! "  I  cried,  throwing  open  the  door. 
"What's  up?" 

Without  replying  at  the  moment,  Joe  came 
striding  in,  shut  the  door,  and  throwing  his  hat 
down  upon  the  table,  said  : 

"  I  came  back  to  tell  you  something.  I've  a 
notion,  Phil,  that  we've  got  to  go  hunting  for 
that  vein  ourselves,  and  not  lose  time  by  going 
up  to  tell  Tom." 

"  Why  ?  What  makes  you  think  that,  Joe  ?  " 
I  asked,  in  surprise. 

"  That's  what  I  came  back  to  tell  you.  You 
know  that  little  treeless  '  bubble  '  that  stands  on 
the  edge  of  the  canon  only  about  half  a  mile  up- 
271 


272      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

stream  from  here?     Well,  when  I  drove  up  the 
hill  out  of  our  valley  just  now  I  turned,  natu- 
rally, to  look  at  the  scar  on  the  mountain,  when 
the  first  thing  to  catch  my  eye  was  the  figure  of 
a  man  standing  on  top  of  the  '  bubble.'  " 
'*  Is  that  so  ?     What  was  he  doing  ?  " 
"  He  was  looking  at  the  scar,  too." 
"How  do  you  know  that,  Joe?"  I  asked,  in- 
credulously.   "  You  couldn't  tell  at  that  distance 
whether  he  had  his  back  to  you  or  his  face." 

"  Ah,  but  I  could,  though,"  Joe  replied  ;  "and 
I'll  tell  you  how.  After  a  minute  or  so  the  man 
turned — I  could  see  that  motion  distinctly 
enough — caught  sight  of  me,  and  instantly 
jumped  down  behind  the  rocks." 

"  Didn't  want  to  be  seen,  eh  ? "  remarked 
Peter.     "  And  what  did  you  do  next?  " 

"  I  felt  sure  he  was  watching  me,  though  I 
couldn't  see  him,"  Joe  went  on,  "  and  so,  to 
make  him  suppose  I  hadn't  observed  him,  I 
stayed  where  I  was  for  a  minute,  and  then  drove 
leisurely  on  again.  There's  a  dip  in  the  road, 
you  know,  Phil,  a  little  further  on,  and  as  soon 
as  I  had  driven  down  into  it,  out  of  sight,  I 
pulled  up,  jumped  out  of  the  buckboard,  and 
running  up  the  hill  again  I  crawled  to  the  top 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  273 

of  the  rise  and  looked  back.  There  was  the 
man,  going  across  the  mesa  at  a  run,  headed 
straight  for  Big  Reuben's  gorge  !  " 

Joe  paused,  and  for  a  moment  we  all  sat  look- 
ing at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  Any  idea  who  he  was  ?  "  I  asked  presently. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joe,  without  hesitation.  "  It 
was  Long  John  Butterfield." 

"  You  seem  very  sure,"  remarked  Peter  ;  "  but 
do  you  think  you  could  recognize  him  so  far 
off?" 

"I  feel  sure  it  was  Long  John,"  Joe  answered. 
"  I  have  very  long  sight ;  and  as  the  man  stood 
there  on  top  of  the  *  bubble,'  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing full  upon  him,  he  looked  as  tall  as  a  tele- 
graph pole.  Yes,  I  feel  certain  it  was  Long 
John." 

"  Then  Yetmore  has  started  him  out  to  prospect 
for  that  vein  !  "  I  cried.  "  He  is  probably  camped 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Big  Reuben's  gorge,  fol- 
lowing up  the  stream,  and  I  suppose  he  heard 
the  roar  of  the  slide  yesterday  and  came  down 
this  way  the  first  thing  this  morning  to  get  a 
look  at  the  scar." 

"  That's  it,  I  expect,"  Joe  answered. 

"  And  you  suppose,"  said  Peter,  '*  that  he  went 


274      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

running  back  to  his  camp  to  get  his  tools  and  go 
prospecting  up  on  the  scar." 

Joe  nodded. 

"Then,  what  do  you  propose  to  do?"  asked 
the  hermit. 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  it  as  I  drove  back," 
replied  Joe,  "  and  my  opinion  is  that  Phil  and 
I  ought  to  go  up  at  once,  see  if  we  can't  find  the 
spot  where  that  big  tree  was  rooted  out,  and 
stake  the  claim  for  Tom  Connor.  If  we  lose  a 
whole  day  by  going  up  to  Sulphide  to  notify 
Tom,  it  would  give  Long  John  a  chance  to  get 
in  ahead  of  us  and  perhaps  beat  us  after  all." 

The  bare  idea  of  such  a  catastrophe  was  too 
much  for  me.  I  sprang  out  of  my  chair,  crying, 
"  We'll  go,  Joe  !  And  we'll  start  at  once  !  How 
are  we  to  get  up  there,  Peter  ?  There  must  be 
any  amount  of  snow  ;  and  we  are  neither  of  us 
any  good  on  skis,  even  if  we  had  them." 

"  Yes,  there's  plenty  of  snow,"  replied  Peter 
promptly,  entering  with  heartiness  into  the 
spirit  of  the  enterprise,  "  lots  of  snow,  but  you 
can  avoid  most  of  it  by  taking  the  ridge  on  the 
right  of  the  creek  and  following  along  its  sum- 
mit to  where  it  connects  with  the  saddle.  You'll 
find  a  little  cliff  up  there,  barring  your  way,  but 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  275 

by  turning  to  your  left  and  keeping  along  the 
foot  of  the  precipice  you  will  come  presently  to 
the  upper  end  of  the  slide,  and  then,  by  coming 
down  the  slide,  you  will  be  able  to  reach  the 
place  where  the  line  of  trees  used  to  stand,  which 
is  the  place  you  want  to  reach." 

"  Is  it  at  all  dangerous  ?  "  asked  Joe. 
"  Why,  yes,"  replied  Peter,  "  it  is  a  bit  dan- 
gerous, especially  on  the  slide  itself  now  that  the 
trees  are  gone ;  though  if  you  are  ordinarily 
careful  you  ought  to  be  able  to  make  it  all  right, 
there  being  two  of  you.  For  a  man  by  himself 
it  would  be  risky — a  very  small  accident  might 
strand  him  high  and  dry  on  the  mountain — 
but  where  there  are  two  together  it  is  reason- 
ably safe." 

"  Come  on,  then,  Joe,"  said  I.  ''  Let's  be  off." 
"  Wait  a  bit !  "  cried  our  guest,  holding  up  his 
hand.  "  You  talk  of  staking  a  claim  for  Tom 
Connor  ;  well,  suppose  you  should  find  the  spot 
where  the  big  tree  was  rooted  out,  and  should 
find  a  vein  there — do  you  know  how  to  write  a 
location-notice  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  blankly.     "  We  don't." 
"  Well,  I'll  write  you  out  the  form,"  said  Peter. 
"  I've  read  hundreds  of  them  and  I  remember  it 


276       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

well  enough,  and  you  can  just  copy  the  wording 
when  you  set  up  your  stake — if  you  have  occa- 
sion to  set  one  up  at  all." 

He  sat  down  and  quickly  wrote  out  the  form 
for  us,  when,  pocketing  the  paper,  we  went  over 
to  the  stable,  saddled  up,  and  leaving  Peter  in 
charge,  away  we  rode,  armed  with  a  pick,  a 
shovel,  an  ax  and  a  coil  of  rope. 

According  to  the  hermit's  directions,  instead 
of  following  up  the  bed  of  the  creek  which  led 
to  his  house,  we  took  to  the  spur  on  the  right, 
the  top  of  which  being  treeless,  had  been  swept 
bare  of  snow  by  the  winds  and  presented  no 
serious  obstacle  to  our  sure-footed  ponies.  We 
were  able,  therefore,  to  ride  up  the  mountain  so 
far  that  we  presently  found  ourselves  looking 
down  upon  Peter's  house,  or,  rather,  upon  the 
mountain  of  snow  which  covered  it.  But  here 
the  character  of  the  spur  changed,  or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  here  the  spur  ended  and  another 
one  began.  Between  the  two,  half-filled  with 
well-packed  snow,  lay  a  deep  crevice,  which, 
bearing  away  down  hill  to  our  right,  was  pres- 
ently lost  among  the  trees. 

''  From  the  lay  of  the  land,"  said  Joe,  "  I 
should  judge  that  this  is  the  head  of  the  creek 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  277 

which  runs  through  Big  Reuben's  gorge — Peter 
told  us  it  started  up  here,  you  remember.  And 
from  the  look  of  it,"  he  continued,  "  I  should 
suppose  that  the  shortest  way  of  getting  over  to 
the  slide  would  be  to  cut  right  across  here  to  the 
left  through  the  trees.  But  that  is  out  of  the 
question  :  the  snow  would  be  ten  feet  over  our 
heads  ;  so  our  only  way  is  to  cross  this  gulch  and 
go  on  up  as  far  as  we  can  along  the  top  of  the 
next  ridge,  as  Peter  said." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  to  leave  the  ponies  here," 
I  remarked,  "  and  do  the  rest  on  foot :  there's  no 
getting  them  across  this  place." 

Accordingly,  we  abandoned  our  ponies  at  this 
point,  and  having  with  some  difficulty  scrambled 
across  the  gulch  ourselves,  we  ascended  to  the 
ridge  of  the  next  spur  and  continued  our  way 
upward.  This  spur  was  crowned  by  an  outcrop 
of  rock,  which  being  much  broken  up  and  the 
cracks  being  filled  with  snow,  made  the  walking 
not  only  difficult  but  dangerous.  By  taking 
care,  however,  we  avoided  any  accident,  and. 
after  a  pretty  stiff  climb  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a 
perpendicular  ledge  of  rocks  which  cut  across 
our  course  at  right  angles — the  little  cliff  Peter 
had  told  us  we  should  find  barring  our  way. 


278      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

Here,  turning  to  the  left,  as  directed,  we 
skirted  along  the  base  of  the  cliff,  sometimes  on 
the  rocks  and  sometimes  on  the  edge  of  the  snow 
which  rested  against  them,  until  at  last  we 
reached  a  point  whence  we  could  look  right 
down  the  steep  slope  of  the  slide. 

Covered  with  loose  shale,  the  slope  for  its  whole 
length  appeared  to  be  smooth  and  of  uniform 
pitch,  except  that  about  three-quarters  of  the 
way  down  we  could  see  a  line  of  snow  hum- 
mocks stretching  all  across  its  course,  indicating 
pretty  surely  that  here  had  grown  a  strip  of  trees, 
which  being  most  of  them  broken  off  short  had 
caught  and  held  a  little  snow  against  the 
stumps. 

"  There's  where  we  want  to  get,  Joe  !  "  I  cried, 
eagerly.  "  Down  there  to  that  row  of  stumps  ! 
This  is  a  limestone  country — all  this  shale,  you 
see,  is  composed  of  limestone  chips — but  that 
tree-root  in  which  we  found  the  chunk  of  galena 
held  two  or  three  bits  of  porphyry  as  well,  you 
remember,  and  if  it  did  come  from  down  there, 
there's  a  good  chance  that  that  line  of  stumps 
indicates  the  course  of  a  porphyry  outcrop,  as 
Peter  guessed,  cutting  across  the  limestone  for- 
mation." 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  279 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  "  asked  Joe.  "  Is  a  por- 
phyry outcrop  a  desirable  thing  to  find  ?  Is  it 
an  '  indication  '  ?  " 

"  It's  plain  you're  no  prospector,  Joe,"  said  I, 
laughing ;  "  and  though  I  don't  set  up  to  know 
much  about  it  myself,  I've  learned  enough  from 
hearing  Tom  Connor  talk  of  '  contact  veins  '  to 
know  that  if  there's  a  vein  in  the  neighborhood 
the  most  promising  place  to  look  for  it  is  where 
the  limestone  and  the  porphyry  come  in  con- 
tact." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  cried  Joe,  beginning  to  get  ex- 
cited. "  Then  let  us  get  down  there  at  once ; 
for,  ten  to  one,  that's  where  our  big  tree  came 
from." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  I.  "  The  row  of 
stumps  is  our  goal,  all  right,  but  how  are  we 
going  to  get  down  there?  I  don't  feel  at  all  in- 
clined to  trust  myself  on  this  loose  shale.  The 
pitch  is  so  steep  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  its 
starting  to  slide  and  carrying  us  with  it,  when  I 
don't  see  anything  to  stop  us  from  going  down 
to  the  bottom  and  over  the  precipice  at  the  lower 
end." 

''  That's  true,"  Joe  assented.  ''  No,  it  won't 
do  to  trust  ourselves  on  this  treacherous  shale ; 


28o      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

it's  too  dangerous.  What  we  must  do,  Phil,  is 
to  get  across  to  that  long  spur  of  rocks  over  there 
and  climb  down  that.  It  will  bring  us  close 
down  to  the  line  of  stumps." 

The  spur  to  which  Joe  referred,  connecting  at 
its  upper  end  with  the  cliff  at  the  foot  of  which 
we  were  then  standing,  reached  downward  like 
a  great  claw  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
chain  of  snow  hummocks,  and  undoubtedly^  our 
safest  course  would  be  to  follow  it  to  its  lowest 
extremity  and  begin  our  descent  from  there.  It 
was  near  the  further  edge  of  the  slide,  however, 
and  to  get  over  to  it  we  had  to  take  a  course 
close  under  the  cliff,  holding  on  to  the  rocks 
with  our  right  hands  as  we  skirted  along  the 
upper  edge  of  the  shaly  slope.  It  was  rather 
slow  work,  for  we  had  to  be  careful,  but  at  length 
we  reached  our  destination,  when,  turning  once 
more  to  our  left,  we  scrambled  down  the  spur  to 
its  lowest  point. 

''  Now,  Phil,"  cried  Joe,  "  you  stay  where  you 
are  while  I  go  down.  No  use  to  take  unneces- 
sary risks  by  both  going  down  together.  You 
sit  here,  if  you  don't  mind,  and  wait  for  me  ;  I 
won't  be  any  longer  than  I  can  help." 

"  All  right,"  said  I ;  "  but  take  the  end  of  the 


SHOT    DOWNWARD    LIKE    AN    ARROW" 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  281 

rope  in  your  hand,  Joe.  No  use  for  you  to  take 
unnecessary  risks,  either." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  replied  my  companion.  "  Yes, 
I'll  take  the  rope." 

With  a  shovel  in  one  hand  and  the  end  of  the 
rope  in  the  other,  Joe  started  downward,  but 
presently,  having  advanced  as  far  as  the  rope 
extended,  he  dropped  it  and  went  cautiously  on, 
using  the  shovel-handle  as  a  staff.  Down  to  this 
point  he  had  had  little  difficulty,  but  a  few  steps 
further  on,  reaching  presumably  the  change  of 
formation  we  had  expected  to  find,  where  the 
smooth,  icy  rock  beneath  the  shale  was  covered 
only  by  an  inch  or  so  of  the  loose  material,  the 
moment  he  stepped  upon  it  Joe's  feet  slipped 
from  under  him  and  falling  on  his  back  he  shot 
downward  like  an  arrow. 

I  held  my  breath  as  I  watched  him,  horribly 
scared  lest  he  should  go  flying  down  the  whol& 
remaining  length  of  the  slope  and  over  the  prec- 
ipice ;  but  my  suspense  lasted  only  a  few 
seconds,  for  presently  a  great  jet  of  snow  flew 
into  the  air,  in  the  midst  of  which  Joe  vanished. 
The  next  moment,  however,  he  appeared  again, 
hooking  the  snow  out  of  his  neck  with  his  finger, 
and  called  out  to  me  : 


282      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  All  right,  Phil !  I  fell  into  a  hole  where  a 
tree  came  out.  I'm  going  to  shovel  out  the 
snow  now.  Don't  let  go  of  that  rope  whatever 
you  do." 

So  saying  he  set  to  work  with  the  shovel,  mak- 
ing the  snow  fly,  while  I  sat  on  the  rocks  a 
hundred  feet  above,  watching  him.  In  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  looked  up  and  called  out 
to  me  : 

"  I've  found  it,  Phil.  Right  in  this  hole.  It's 
the  hole  our  big  tree  came  out  of,  I  believe. 
Can't  tell  how  much  of  a  vein,  though,  the 
ground  is  frozen  too  hard.  Bring  down  the 
pick,  will  you  ?  Come  down  to  the  end  of  the 
rope  and  throw  it  to  me." 

In  response  to  this  request,  having  first  tied  a 
knot  in  the  end  of  the  rope  and  fixed  it  firmly 
in  a  crack  in  the  rocks,  I  went  carefully  down 
as  far  as  it  reached,  when,  with  a  back-handed 
fling,  I  sent  the  pick  sliding  down  to  my  partner. 

"  Don't  j^ou  think  I  might  venture  down  and 
help  you,  Joe  ?  "  I  called  out. 

"  No ! "  replied  Joe  with  much  emphasis. 
"  You  stay  where  you  are,  Phil.  It  would  be 
too  risky.  I  can  do  the  work  by  myself  all 
right." 


The   Big  Reuben  Vein  283 

Still  keeping  my  hold  on  the  rope,  therefore,  I 
sat  myself  down  on  the  shale,  while  Joe,  pick  in 
hand,  went  to  work  again.  Pretty  soon  he 
straightened  up  and  said  : 

"  I've  found  the  vein  all  right,  Phil ;  I  don't 
think  there  can  be  a  doubt  of  it.  Good  strong 
vein,  too,  T  should  say." 

"  How  wide  is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Can't  tell  how  wide  it  is.  I've  found  what 
I  suppose  to  be  the  porphyry  hanging-wall, 
right  here  " — tapping  the  rock  with  his  pick — 
"  and  I've  been  trying  to  trench  across  the  vein 
to  find  the  foot-wall,  but  the  shale  runs  in  on 
me  faster  than  I  can  dig  it  out." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do,  then,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Try  one  of  those  other  holes  further  along 
and  see  if  I  can't  find  the  vein  again  and  get  its 
direction.  You  sit  still  there,  Phil.  I  shall 
want  you  to  give  me  a  hand  out  of  here  soon." 

With  extreme  caution  he  made  his  way  along 
the  line  of  stumps,  helping  himself  with  the 
pick  in  one  hand  and  the  shovel  in  the  other, 
until,  about  a  hundred  yards  distant,  he  ar- 
rived at  another  hole  where  a  tree  had  been 
rooted  out,  and  here  he  went  to  work  again. 
This  time  he  kept  at  it  for  a  good  half  hour,  but 


284      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

at  length  he  laid  down  his  tools,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  occupied  himself  by  building  with  loose 
pieces  of  rock  a  little  pillar  about  eighteen  inches 
high. 

"  Can  you  see  that,  Phil  ?  "  he  shouted. 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  it,"  I  called  back. 

This  seemed  to  be  all  Joe  wanted,  for  he  at 
once  picked  up  his  tools  again,  and  with  the 
same  caution  made  his  way  back  to  the  first 
hole. 

"  What's  your  pile  of  stones  for,  Joe  ? "  I 
asked. 

*'  Why,  I  found  the  vein  again,  hanging-wall 
and  all,  and  I  set  up  that  little  monument  so 
as  to  get  the  line  of  the  vein  from  here." 

Taking  out  of  his  pocket  a  little  compass  we 
had  brought  for  the  purpose,  he  laid  it  on  the 
rock,  and  sighting  back  over  his  "  monument," 
he  found  that  the  vein  ran  northeast  and  south- 
west. 

*'  Phil,"  said  he,  "  do  you  see  that  dead  pine, 
broken  off  at  the  top,  Avith  a  hawk's  nest  in  it, 
away  back  there  on  the  upper  side  of  the  gulch 
where  we  left  the  ponies?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  ''  I  see  it.     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  The  line  of  the  vein  runs  right  to  that  tree, 


The  Big  Reuben  Vein  285 

and  I  propose  we  get  back  and  hunt  for  it  there. 
I  don't  want  to  set  up  the  location-stake  here  : 
this  place  is  too  difficult  to  get  at  and  too  danger- 
ous to  work  in.  So  I  vote  we  get  back  to  the 
dead  tree  and  try  again  there.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  All  right,"  I  replied.  "  We'll  do  so." 
"  Very  well,  then  I'll  come  up  now." 
But  this  was  more  easily  said  than  done.  Do 
what  he  would,  Joe  could  not  get  up  to  where  I 
sat,  holding  out  to  him  first  a  hand  and  then  a  foot. 
He  tried  walking  and  he  tried  crawling,  but  in 
vain  ;  the  rock  beneath  the  shale  was  too  steep 
and  too  smooth  and  too  slippery.  At  length,  at 
my  suggestion,  Joe  threw  the  shovel  up  to  me, 
when,  on  my  lying  flat  and  reaching  down- 
ward as  far  as  I  could  stretch,  he  succeeded  in 
hooking  the  pick  over  the  shoulder  of  the  shovel- 
blade,  after  which  he  had  no  more  difficulty. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  said  I,  when  we  had  safely 
reached  the  rocks  again,  "it's  just  as  well  we 
didn't  both  go  down  together  after  all,  isn't 
it?" 

"That's  what  it  is,"  replied  my  partner, 
heartily.  "  If  you  had  tried  to  come  down  with 
me  we  should  both  probably  have  tumbled  into 


286      The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

that  hole  together,  and  there  we  should  have 
had  to  stay  till  somebody  came  up  to  look  for 
us ;  and  there'd  have  been  precious  little  fun  in 
that.  Did  it  scare  you  when  I  went  scooting 
down  the  slide  on  my  back  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  did,"  I  replied.  "  I  expected  to 
have  to  go  down  to  Peter's  house  and  lug  you 
home  next — if  there  was  any  of  you  left." 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  a  bit  scared 
myself.  It  was  a  great  piece  of  luck  my  falling 
into  that  hole.  It's  a  dangerous  place,  this,  and 
the  sooner  we  get  out  of  it  the  better ;  so,  let  us 
start  back  at  once." 

Making  our  way  up  the  spur,  we  again  skirted 
along  between  the  upper  edge  of  the  slide  and 
the  foot  of  the  clifT,  and  ascending  once  more  to 
the  ridge,  we  retraced  our  steps  down  it  until  we 
presently  arrived  at  the  dead  tree  with  the 
hawk's  nest  in  it. 

Here,  after  a  careful  inspection  of  the  ground, 
we  went  to  work,  Joe  with  the  pick,  and  I,  fol- 
lowing behind  him,  throwing  out  the  loose  stuff 
with  the  shovel  and  searching  through  each 
shovelful  for  bits  of  galena.  In  this  way  we 
worked,  cutting  a  narrow  trench  across  the  line 
where  we  supposed  the  vein  ought  to  run,  until 


The  Big  Reuben   Vein  287 

presently  Joe  himself  gave  a  great  shout  which 
brought  me  to  his  side  in  an  instant. 

With  the  point  of  his  pick  he  had  hooked  out 
a  lump  of  galena  as  big  as  his  head  ! 

My  !  How  excited  we  were !  And  how  we 
did  work  !  We  just  flew  at  it,  tooth  and  nail — 
or,  rather,  pick  and  shovel.  If  our  lives  had 
depended  on  it  we  could  not  have  worked  any 
harder,  I  firmly  believe.  The  consequence  was 
that  at  the  end  of  an  hour  we  had  uncovered  a 
vein  fifteen  feet  wide,  disclosing  a  porphyry  wall 
on  one  side  and  a  limestone  wall  on  the  other. 

The  vein  was  not,  of  course,  a  solid  body  of 
ore.  Very  far  from  it.  Though  there  were  bits 
of  galena  scattered  pretty  thickly  all  across  it, 
the  bulk  of  the  vein-matter  was  composed  of 
scraps  of  quartz  mixed  with  yellow  earth — the 
latter,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  being  itself  de- 
composed lead-ore — to  say  nothing  of  grass-roots, 
tree-roots  and  other  rubbish  which  helped  to 
make  up  the  mass. 

But  that  we  had  found  a  real,  genuine  vein, 
even  we,  novices  as  we  were  at  the  business, 
could  not  doubt,  and  very  heartily  we  shook 
hands  with  each  other  when  our  trenching  at 
length  brought  us  up  against  the  limestone  foot- 


288      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

wall.     With  the  discovery  of  this  foot-wall,  Joe 
called  a  halt. 

''  Enough  ! "  he  cried.  "  Enough,  Phil !  Let's 
stop  now.  We've  got  the  vein,  all  right,  and  a 
staving  good  vein  it  is,  and  all  we  have  to  do 
for  the  present  is  to  set  up  our  location-stake. 
To-morrow  Tom  will  come  up  here,  when  he 
can  make  his  camp  and  get  to  work  at  it 
regularly,  sinking  his  ten-foot  prospect-hole. 
What  are  we  going  to  name  it  ?  The  '  Hermit'  ? 
The  '  Raven '  ?    The  '  Socrates  '  ?  " 

"  Call  it  the  '  Big  Reuben,'"  I  suggested. 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  Joe.  "  That's  it !  The 
'  Big  Reuben  '  it  shall  be." 

This,  therefore,  was  the  title  we  wrote  upon 
our  location-notice,  by  which  we  claimed  for 
Tom  Connor  a  strip  of  ground  fifteen  hundred 
feet  in  length  along  the  course  of  the  vein  and 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  Avide  on  either  side  of 
it ;  and  thus  did  our  old  enemy,  Big  Reuben, 
lend  his  name  to  a  '*  prospect "  which  was 
destined  later  to  take  its  place  among  the  fore- 
most mines  of  our  district. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet 

WE  had  been  so  expeditious,  thanks  largely 
to  Joe's  good  judgment  in  tumbling  into 
the  right  hole  at  the  start  when  he  slid  down 
the  shale,  that  we  reached  home  well  before 
sunset,  when,  according  to  the  arrangement  we 
had  made  as  we  rode  down,  Joe  started  again 
that  same  evening  for  Sulphide.  This  time  he 
made  the  trip  without  interruption,  and  when 
at  eight  o'clock  next  morning  he  drove  up  to 
our  house,  Tom  Connor  was  with  him. 

"  How  are  you,  old  man  ?  "  cried  the  latter, 
springing  to  the  ground  and  shaking  hands 
very  heartily  with  our  guest.  "That  was  a 
pretty  narrow  squeak  you  had." 

''It  certainly  was,"  replied  Peter.  ''And  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  these  boys,  I'd  have  been 
up  there  yet.  What's  the  news,  Connor  ?  Any 
clue  to  your  ore-thieves  ?  " 

"  Not  much  but  what  you  and  the  boys  have 
furnished.     But  ask  Joe,  he'll  tell  you." 
289 


290      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  Well,"  said  Joe,  "  in  the  first  place,  Long 
John  has  disappeared.  He  has  not  been  seen 
since  the  evening  before  the  robbery.  No  one 
knows  what's  become  of  him." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  I  cried.  "  Then  I  suppose  the 
robbery  is  laid  to  him." 

"  Yes,  to  him  and  another  man.  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it.  After  I  had  been  to  the  mine  and 
given  Tom  our  news,  I  went  down  town  to  Yet- 
more's  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  That 
was  a  good  idea  of  your  father's,  Phil,  that  we 
should  go  and  tell  Yetmore :  he  took  it  very 
kindly,  and  repeated  several  times  how  much 
obliged  he  felt.  He  seems  most  anxious  to  be 
friendly." 

"  It's  my  opinion,"  Tom  Connor  cut  in,  "  that 
he  got  such  a  thorough  scare  that  night  of  the 
explosion,  and  is  so  desperate  thankful  he  didn't 
blow  you  two  sky-high,  that  he  can't  do  enough 
to  make  amends." 

"  That's  it,  I  think,"  said  Joe.  "  And  I  be- 
lieve it  is  a  great  relief  to  him  also  to  find  that 
we  are  not  trying  to  lay  the  blame  on  him. 
Anyhow,  he  couldn't  have  been  more  friendly 
than  he  was ;  and  he  told  me  things  which 
seem  to  throw  some  light  on  the  matter  of  the 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  291 

ore-theft.  There  7uas  seemingly  a  second  man 
concerned  in  it;  a  man  with  a  club-foot,  Peter." 
"  Ah,  ha  !  "  said  Peter.  "  Is  that  so  ?  " 
"  Yes.  There  used  to  be  a  man  about  town 
known  as  '  Clubfoot,'  a  crony  of  Long  John's," 
Joe  continued.  *'  He  was  convicted  of  ore-steal- 
ing about  three  years  ago,  and  was  sent  to  the 
penitentiary.  A  few  days  ago  he  escaped,  and 
it  is  Yetmore's  opinion  that  he  ran  straight  to 
Long  John  for  shelter.  On  the  night  after  the 
explosion  he — Yetmore,  I  mean,  you  know — 
went  to  John's  house  '  to  give  the  blundering 
numskull  a  piece  of  his  mind,'  as  he  said — we 
can  guess  what  about — and  John  wouldn't  let 
him  in  ;  so  they  held  their  interview  outside  in 
the  dark.  I  gathered  that  there  was  a  pretty 
lively  quarrel,  which  ended  in  Yetmore  telling 
Long  John  that  he  had  done  with  him,  and  that 
he  needn't  expect  him  to  grub-stake  him  this 
spring, 

"It  is  Yetmore's  belief  that  the  reason  John 
wouldn't  let  him  into  his  house — it's  only  a 
one-roomed  shanty,  you  know — was  that  Club- 
foot was  then  inside ;  and  he  further  believes 
that  John,  finding  himself  deprived  of  his  ex- 
pected summer's  work,  and  no  doubt  incensed 


292      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

besides  at  Yetmore's  going  back  on  him,  as  he 
would  consider  it,  then  and  there  planned  with 
Clubfoot  the  robbery  of  the  ore  ;  both  of  them  be- 
ing familiar  with  the  workings  of  the  Pelican." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable,"  remarked  Peter ; 
"  though,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  it  amounts 
to  no  more  than  a  guess  on  Yetmore's  part. 
But,  look  here ! "  he  went  on,  as  the  thought 
suddenly  occurred  to  him.  "  If  Long  John  is 
not  prospecting  for  Yetmore  or  himself  either, 
being  supposedly  in  hiding,  what  was  he  doing 
on  the  '  bubble  '  yesterday  ?  " 

"  But  perhaps  he  is  prospecting  for  himself," 
Tom  Connor  broke  in.  "  Here  we  are,  theoriz- 
ing away  like  a  house  afire  on  the  idea  that  he 
is  the  thief,  when  maybe  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  And  if  he  is  prospecting  for  himself, 
the  sooner  I  get  up  to  that  claim  the  better  if  I 
don't  want  to  be  interfered  with.  I  reckon  PU 
dig  out  right  away.  If  you  boys,"  turning  to 
us,  **  can  spare  the  time  and  the  buckboard  you 
can  help  me  a  good  bit  by  carrying  up  my 
things  for  me." 

"  All  right,  Tom,"  said  I.     "  We  can  do  so." 

Starting  at  once,  therefore,  with  a  load  of 
provisions,  tools  and  bedding,  we  carried  them 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  293 

up  the  mountain  as  far  as  we  could  on  wheels, 
and  then  packed  them  the  rest  of  the  way  on 
horseback,  when,  having  seen  Tom  comfortably 
established  in  camp  near  the  Big  Reuben — with 
the  look  of  which  he  expressed  himself  as  im- 
mensely pleased — Joe  and  I  turned  homeward 
again  about  four  in  the  afternoon. 

We  were  driving  along,  skirting  the  rim  of 
our  canon,  and  were  passing  between  the  stream 
and  the  little  treeless  "  bubble  "  upon  which  Joe 
had,  as  he  believed,  seen  Long  John  standing 
the  day  before,  when  my  companion  remarked : 

*'  I  should  very  much  like  to  know,  Phil, 
what  Long  John  was  doing  up  there.     Do  you 

suppose Whoa  !     Whoa,  there,  Josephus  ! 

What's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

This  exclamation  was  addressed  to  the  horse  ; 
for  at  this  moment  the  ordinarily  well-behaved 
Josephus  shied,  snorted,  and  standing  up  on  his 
hind  feet  struck  out  with  his  fore  hoofs  at  a  big 
timber-wolf,  which,  springing  out  from  the 
shelter  of  some  boulders  on  the  margin  of  the 
canon  and  passing  almost  under  his  nose,  ran 
off  and  disappeared  among  the  rocks. 

"  He  must  have  been  down  to  the  stream  to 
get  a  drink,"  suggested  Joe. 


294      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  He  couldn't,"  said  I ;  "  the  canon-wall  is 
too  steep ;  no  wolf  could  scramble  up." 

"  Well,  if  he  didn't,"  remarked  my  compan- 
ion, "  how  did  he  get  his  feet  wet  ?  Look  here 
at  his  tracks." 

As  he  said  this,  Joe  pointed  to  the  bare  stone 
before  us,  where  the  wolf's  wet  tracks  were 
plainly  visible. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  then  I  suppose  there  must 
be  a  way  up  after  all.  Wait  a  moment,  Joe, 
while  I  take  a  look." 

Jumping  from  the  buckboard,  I  stepped  over 
to  the  boulders  whence  the  wolf  had  appeared, 
where,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  a  pool,  or,  rather, 
a  big  puddle  of  water,  which,  overflowing, 
dripped  into  the  canon. 

Where  the  water  came  from  I  could  not  at 
first  detect,  but  on  a  more  careful  inspection  I 
found  that  it  ran,  a  tiny  thread,  along  a  crack  in 
the  lava  not  more  than  a  couple  of  inches  wide, 
which,  on  tracing  it  back,  I  found  we  had  driven 
over  without  noticing.  Apparently  the  water 
came  down  from  the  "  bubble  "  through  a  rift  in 
the  crater- wall. 

As  I  have  stated  before,  several  of  the  little 
craters  contributed  small  streams  of  water  to  our 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  295 

creek,  but  this  was  not  one  of  them,  so,  turning 
to  my  companion,  I  said  : 

"  Joe,  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  seen 
any  water  come  down  from  that  '  bubble.'  Let 
us  climb  up  to  the  top  and  take  a  look  in- 
side/' 

Away  we  went,  therefore,  scrambling  up  the 
rocky  slope,  when,  having  reached  the  rim,  we 
looked  down  into  the  little  crater.  The  area  of 
its  floor  was  only  about  an  acre  in  extent,  but 
instead  of  being  grown  over  with  grass  and  sage- 
brush, as  was  the  case  with  most  of  them,  this 
one  was  covered  with  blocks  of  stone  of  all  sizes, 
some  of  them  weighing  several  tons.  It  was 
evident  that  the  walls,  which  were  only  about 
thirty  feet  in  height,  had  at  one  time  been  much 
higher,  but  that  in  the  course  of  ages  they  had 
broken  down  and  thus  littered  the  little  bowl- 
shaped  depression  with  the  fragments. 

The  thread  of  water  which  had  drawn  us  up 
there  came  trickling  out  from  among  these 
blocks  of  stone,  and  we  set  out  at  once  to  trace 
it  up  to  its  source  while  we  still  had  daylight. 
But  this,  we  found,  was  by  no  means  easy,  for, 
though  the  stream  did  not  dodge  about  much, 
but  ran  pretty  directly  down  to  the  crack  in  the 


296      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

wall,  its  course  was  so  much  impeded  by  rocks, 
under  and  around  which  it  had  to  make  its  way 
— while  over  and  around  them  we  had  to  make 
our  way — that  it  was  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  be- 
fore we  discovered  where  it  came  from. 

We  had  expected  to  find  a  pool  of  rain-water, 
more  or  less  extensive,  seeping  through  the  sand 
and  slowly  draining  away.  What  we  actually 
did  find  was  something  very  different :  some- 
thing which  filled  us  with  wonder  and  excite- 
ment ! 

About  the  middle  of  the  little  crater  there 
came  boiling  out  of  the  ground  a  strong  spring, 
which,  running  along  a  deep,  narrow  channel  it 
had  in  the  course  of  many  centuries  worn  in  the 
solid  stone  floor  of  the  crater,  disappeared  in 
turn  beneath  the  litter  of  rocks.  A  short  dis- 
tance below  the  spring  the  channel  was  half 
filled  for  some  distance  with  fragments  of  stone 
of  no  great  size,  which,  checking  the  rush  of 
the  water,  caused  it  to  lap  over  the  edge. 
It  was  this  slight  overflow  which  supplied 
the  driblet  we  had  followed  up  from  the  cailon 
below. 

"  Joe  1  "  I  exclaimed,  greatly  excited.  "  Do 
you  know  what  I  think  ?  " 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  297 

"Yes,  I  do,"  my  companion  answered  like  a 
flash.  "  I  think  so,  too.  Come  on  !  Let's  find 
out  at  once  !  " 

Following  the  channel,  we  went  clambering 
over  the  rocks,  which  just  here  were  not  quite 
so  plentiful,  until,  at  a  distance  from  the  spring 
of  about  fifty  yards,  we  came  upon  a  large  cir- 
cular pool  in  which  the  water  flowed  contin- 
uously round  and  round  as  though  stirred  with 
a  gigantic  spoon,  while  in  the  centre  it  spun 
round  violently,  a  perfect  little  whirlpool,  and 
sank  with  a  gurgle  into  the  earth. 

For  a  moment  we  stood  gazing  spellbound  at 
this  natural  phenomenon,  hardly  realizing  what 
it  meant,  and  then,  with  one  impulse,  we  both 
threw  our  hats  into  the  air  with  a  shout,  seized 
each  other's  hands,  and  danced  a  wild  and  un- 
conventional dance,  with  no  witness  but  a  soli- 
tary eagle,  which,  passing  high  overhead,  paused 
for  an  instant  in  his  flight  to  wonder,  probably, 
what  those  crazy,  unaccountable  human  beings 
were  up  to  now. 

At  length,  out  of  breath,  we  stopped,  when 
Joe,  clapping  his  hands  together  to  emphasize 
his  words,  cried  : 

"  At  last  we've  found  it,  Phil !     This,  surely, 


298       The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

is  the  water-supply  that  keeps  the  *  forty  rods ' 
wet!" 

"  It  must  be,"  I  replied,  no  less  excited  than 
my  partner.  "  It  must  be ;  it  can't  be  anything 
else.     But  how  are  we  going  to  prove  it,  Joe?  " 

"  The  only  way  I  see  is  to  divert  the  flow 
here  ;  then,  if  our  underground  stream  stops,  we 
shall  know  this  is  it." 

"  Yes,  but  how  are  we  to  divert  it?  " 

"  Why,  look  here,"  Joe  answered.  "  The 
spring,  I  suppose,  is  a  little  extra-strong  just 
now,  causing  that  slight  overflow  up  above 
here.  Well,  what  we  must  do  is  to  take  the 
line  marked  out  for  us  by  the  overflow,  and 
following  it  from  the  channel  down  to  the  crack 
in  the  crater-wall,  break  up  and  throw  aside  all 
the  rocks  that  get  in  the  way ;  then  cut  a  new 
channel  and  send  the  whole  stream  off"  through 
the  crack,  when  it  will  pour  into  the  canon,  run 
across  the  ranch  on  the  surface,  and  the  '  forty 
rods  '  will  dry  up  !  " 

He  gazed  at  me  eagerly,  with  his  fists  shut 
tight,  as  though  he  were  all  ready  to  spring 
upon  the  impeding  rocks  and  fling  them  out  of 
the  way  at  once. 

"That's   all   right,  Joe,"  I  replied.     "It's  a 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  299 

good  programme.  But  it's  a  tremendous  piece 
of  work,  all  the  same.  There  are  scores  of  rocks 
to  be  broken  up  and  moved  ;  and  when  that  is 
done,  there  is  still  the  new  channel  to  be  cut  in 
the  solid  stone  bed  of  the  crater.  The  present 
channel  is  about  eighteen  inches  deep ;  we  shall 
have  to  make  the  new  one  six  inches  deeper, 
and  something  like  a  hundred  feet  long :  a  big 
job  by  itself,  Joe." 

"I  know  that,"  Joe  answered.  "It's  a  big 
job,  sure  enough,  and  will  take  time  and  lots 
of  hard  work.     Still,  we  can  do  it " 

"  And  what's  more  we  will  do  it  1 "  I  cried. 
"  What's  the  best  way  of  setting  about  it  ?  " 

"  We  shall  have  to  blast  out  the  channel  and 
blow  to  pieces  all  the  bigger  rocks,"  Joe  replied. 
"  It  would  take  forever  to  do  it  with  pick  and 
sledge — in  fact,  it  couldn't  be  done.  We  shall 
have  to  use  powder  and  drill." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll 
do.  We'll  borrow  the  tools  from  Tom  Connor. 
He  left  a  number  of  drills,  you  know,  stored  in 
our  blacksmith-shop,  and  he'll  lend  'em  to  us 
I'm  sure.  One  of  us  had  better  drive  back  to 
the  Big  Reuben  to-morrow  morning  and  ask 
him." 


300      The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

"All  right,  Phil,  we'll  do  so.  My!  I  wish 
— it  doesn't  sound  very  complimentary — but  I 
wish  your  father  would  stay  away  another  week. 
I  believe  we  can  do  this  work  in  a  week,  and 
wouldn't  it  be  grand  if  we  could  have  the 
stream  headed  off  before  he  got  home !  But 
how  about  the  plowing,  Phil  ?  I  was  forgetting 
that." 

"  Why,  the  only  plowing  left,"  I  replied,  "  is 
the  potato  land,  and  that,  fortunately,  is  not 
urgent ;  whereas  the  turning  of  this  stream  is 
urgent — extremely  urgent — and  my  opinion  is 
that  we  ought  to  get  at  it.  Anyhow,  we'll  begin 
on  it,  and  if  my  father  thinks  proper  to  set  us 
to  plowing  instead  when  he  gets  home — all 
right." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  begin  on  this  work  as  soon 
as  we  can.  And  now,  Phil,  let  us  get  along 
home." 

We  had  been  seated  on  a  big  stone  while  this 
discussion  was  going  on,  and  were  just  about 
to  rise,  when  Joe,  suddenly  laying  his  hand  on 
my  arm,  held  up  a  warning  finger.  "  Sh  !  "  he 
whispered.  "  Don't  speak.  Don't  stir.  I  hear 
some  one  moving  about !  " 

Squatting  behind  the  rocks,  I  held  my  breath 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  301 

and  listened,  and  presently  I  heard  distinctly, 
somewhere  close  by,  the  tinkle  of  two  or  three 
chips  of  stone  as  they  rolled  down  into  the 
crater.  Some  one  was  softly  approaching  the 
2:)lace  where  we  sat. 

Though  to  move  was  to  risk  detection,  our 
anxiety  to  see  who  was  there  was  too  strong  to 
resist,  so  Joe,  taking  off  his  hat,  slowly  arose 
until  he  was  able  to  peep  through  a  chink  be- 
tween two  of  the  big  fragments  which  sheltered 
us.  For  a  moment  he  stood  there  motionless, 
and  then,  tapping  me  on  the  shoulder,  he  signed 
to  me  to  stand  up  too. 

Peeping  between  the  stones,  I  saw,  not  fifty 
yards  away,  a  man  coming  carefully  down  the 
crater-wall  on  the  side  opposite  from  that  by 
which  we  ourselves  had  entered.  In  spite  of 
his  care,  however,  he  every  now  and  then  dis- 
lodged a  little  fragment  of  stone,  which  came 
clattering  down  the  steep  slope.  It  was  one  of 
these  that  had  given  us  notice  of  his  approach. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  tall,  gaunt  figure,, 
even  though  the  light  of  the  sunset  sky  behind 
him  made  him  look  a  veritable  giant.  It  was 
Long  John  Butterfield. 

He  was  headed  straight  for  our  hiding-place, 


302      The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

and  it  was  with  some  uneasiness  that  I  observed 
he  had  a  revolver  strapped  about  his  waist.  In 
appearance  he  looked  wilder  and  more  unkempt 
than  ever,  while  the  sharp,  suspicious  manner  in 
which  he  would  every  now  and  then  stop  short 
and  glance  quickly  all  around,  showed  him  to 
be  nervous  and  ill  at  ease. 

While  Joe  and  I  stood  there  silent  and  rigid 
as  statues.  Long  John  came  on  down  the  slope, 
until  presently  he  stopped  scarce  ten  steps  from 
us  beside  a  big,  flat  stone.  There,  for  a  moment, 
he  stood,  his  hand  on  his  revolver,  his  body  bent 
and  his  head  thrust  forward,  his  ears  cocked  and 
his  little  eyes  roving  all  about  the  crater — the 
picture  of  a  watchful  wild  animal — when,  satis- 
fied apparently  that  he  was  alone  and  unob- 
served, he  went  down  upon  his  knees,  threw 
aside  several  pieces  of  rock,  and  thrusting  his 
arm  under  the  flat  stone,  he  pulled  out — a  sack  ! 

So  close  to  us  was  he,  that  even  in  that  uncer- 
tain light  we  could  distinguish  the  word,  "  Peli- 
can," stenciled  upon  it  in  big  black  letters. 

Laying  this  sack  upon  the  flat  stone,  John 
reached  into  the  hole  again,  and,  one  after 
another,  brought  out  four  others.  Apparently 
there  were  no  more  in  there,  for,  having  done 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  303 

this,  he  rose  to  his  feet  again,  looked  all  about 
him  once  more,  and  then  walked  off  a  short  dis- 
tance up-stream.  At  the  point  where  the  chan- 
nel overflowed  he  stopped  again,  when,  to  our 
wonderment  he  pulled  off*  his  coat,  rolled  up  one 
sleeve,  and  going  down  upon  his  knees,  began 
scratching  around  in  the  water.  In  a  few  sec- 
onds he  fished  out  one  at  a  time  five  dripping 
sacks,  all  of  which  he  carried  over  and  set  down 
beside  the  first  five. 

Evidently  he  was  working  with  some  set  pur- 
pose ;  though  to  us  watchers  it  was  all  a  per- 
fectly mysterious  proceeding. 

A  few  steps  from  where  the  sacks  were  piled 
was  a  little  ledge  of  rock  less  than  a  foot  high, 
above  which  was  a  steep  slope  covered  with  loose 
fragments  of  stone.  Taking  up  the  sacks,  two 
at  a  time,  John  carried  them  over  to  this  spot, 
laid  them  all,  end  to  end,  close  under  the  little 
ledge,  and  then,  climbing  up  above  them,  he  sat 
down,  and  with  his  big,  flat  feet  sent  the  loose 
shale  running  down  until  the  row  of  sacks  was 
completely  buried. 

This  seemed  to  be  all  he  wanted,  for,  having 
examined  the  result  of  his  work  and  satisfied 
himself  apparently  that  the  sacks  were  perfectly 


304      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

concealed,  he  turned  and  went  straight  off  up  the 
crater-wall  again,  pausing  at  the  crest  for  a  min- 
ute to  inspect  the  country  ahead  of  him,  and 
then,  stepping  over  the  rim,  in  another  moment 
he  had  vanished. 

"  Come  on,  Phil !  "  whispered  my  companion, 
eagerly.     "  Let  us  see  which  direction  he  takes." 

**  Wait  a  bit,"  I  replied.  "  Give  him  five  min- 
utes :  he  might  come  back." 

We  waited  a  short  time,  therefore,  when,  feel- 
ing pretty  sure  that  John  had  gone  for  good,  we 
scrambled  to  the  summit  of  the  ridge  and  looked 
out  over  the  mesa.  There  we  could  see  Long 
John  striding  away  at  a  great  pace,  apparently 
making  straight  for  Big  Reuben's  gorge. 

"  Then  Yetmore  was  right,"  said  Joe.  "  Those 
fellows  were  the  ore-thieves  after  all.  I  wonder 
if  they  haven't  taken  up  their  quarters  in  Big 
Reuben's  old  cave.  It  would  be  a  pretty  good 
place  for  their  purpose." 

"  Quite  likely,"  I  assented.  "  But  what  do 
you  suppose,  Joe,  can  have  been  Long  John's 
object  in  coming  down  here  and  moving  those 
ore-sacks? — for,  of  course,  they  are  the  Pelican 
ore-sacks.  They  were  well  enough  concealed 
before." 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  305 

"  It  does  look  mysterious  at  first  sight,"  replied 
Joe,  '*  but  I  expect  the  explanation  is  simple 
enough,  I  think  it  is  probable  that  when  they 
brought  the  ore  up  here  the  two  men  divided  the 
spoils  on  the  spot,  each  hiding  his  own  share  in 
a  place  of  his  own  choosing ;  and  our  respected 
friend,  John,  thinking  to  get  ahead  of  the  other 
thief,  has  just  come  and  stolen  his  partner's 
share." 

"  That  would  be  a  pretty  shabby  trick,  but  I 
expect  it  is  just  what  he  has  done.  He'll  be  a 
bit  surprised  when  he  finds  that  some  one  has 
played  a  similar  trick  on  him.  For,  of  course, 
we  can't  leave  the  sacks  there,  to  be  moved  again 
if  Long  John  should  take  the  notion  that  the 
hiding  place  is  not  safe  enough.  How  shall  we 
manage  it,  Joe  ?  If  we  are  going  to  do  anything 
this  evening  we  must  do  it  quickly  :  there  won't 
be  daylight  much  longer." 

After  a  moment's  consideration,  Joe  replied  : 
"  Let  us  go  down  and  carry  those  sacks  outside 
the  crater.  Then  get  along  home,  and  come 
back  here  with  the  wagon  and  team  by  daylight 
to-morrow  and  haul  them  off.  It  is  too  much  of 
a  load  for  the  buckboard,  even  if  we  walked  our- 
selves, so  it  won't  do  to  take  them  with  us  now." 


3o6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

"  All  right,"  said  I.  "  Then  we'll  do  that ; 
and  afterwards  you  can  ride  up  to  see  Tom  Con- 
nor about  those  tools,  while  I  drive  to  Sulphide 
with  the  ore.  Won't  Yetmore  be  glad  to  see 
me!" 

There  was  no  time  to  lose,  and  even  as  it  was, 
the  waning  light  made  it  pretty  difficult  to  pick 
our  way  across  the  rock-strewn  bottom  of  the 
crater  with  a  fifty-pound  sack  under  each  arm, 
but  at  length  we  had  them  all  safely  laid  away 
in  a  crack  in  the  rocks  just  outside  the  crater, 
whence  it  would  be  handy  to  remove  them  in 
the  morning. 

By  the  time  we  had  finished  it  was  dark,  and 
we  hurriedly  drove  off  home,  contemplating  with 
some  reluctance  the  chores  which  were  still  to 
be  done.  From  this  duty,  however,  we  had  a 
happy  relief,  for  our  good  friend,  Peter,  anxious 
to  make  himself  of  some  use,  and  taking  his 
time  about  it,  had  managed  to  feed  the  horses 
and  pigs,  milk  the  cows,  shut  up  the  chickens 
and  start  the  fire  for  supper — a  service  on  his 
part  which  we  very  thoroughly  appreciated. 

We  had  just  sat  down  to  our  evening  meal, 
and  were  telling  Peter  all  about  our  two  great 
finds  of  the  afternoon,  when  our  guest,  whose 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  307 

long  and  solitary  life  as  a  hunter  had  made  his 
hearing  preternaturally  sharp,  straightened  him- 
self in  his  chair,  and  holding  up  one  finger, 
said  : 

"  Hark  !  I  hear  a  horse  coming  up  the  valley 
at  a  gallop  !  " 

At  first  Joe  and  I  could  hear  nothing,  but 
presently  we  detected  the  rhythmical  beat  of  the 
hoofs  of  a  horse  approaching  at  a  smart  canter. 
Somebody  was  coming  up  from  San  Remo — for 
though  a  wheeled  vehicle  could  not  pass  over 
the  "  forty  rods,"  a  horseman  could  pick  his 
way — and  knowing  that  nobody  ever  came  that 
way  in  the  "  soft  "  season  unless  our  house  was 
his  destination,  I  stepped  to  the  door,  wondering 
who  our  visitor  could  be.  Great  was  my  sur- 
prise when  the  horseman,  riding  into  the  streak 
of  light  thrown  through  the  open  doorway, 
proved  to  be  Yetmore  ! 

"  Why,  Mr.  Yetmore  !  "  I  cried.  "  Is  it  you? 
Come  in  !     You're  just  in  time  for  supper." 

"  Thank  you,  Phil,"  replied  the  storekeeper, 
"  but  I  won't  stop.  I  was  down  at  San  Remo 
this  afternoon,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to  ride 
home  this  way  and  inquire  of  j^ou  if  you'd  seen 
or    heard    anything  more  of   those  ore-thieves. 


308      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

By  the  way,  before  I  forget  it :  I  brought  your 
mail  for  you  ; "  at  the  same  time  handing  me 
one  letter  and  two  or  three  newspapers. 

**  Thank  you,"  said  I,  thrusting  the  letter  into 
my  pocket.  "  And  as  to  the  ore- thieves,  Mr. 
Yetmore,  we've  seen  one  of  them  ;  but  we've 
done  something  a  good  deal  better  than  that — 
we've  found  the  ore." 

"  What !  "  shouted  Yetmore,  so  loudly  that 
Joe  came  running  out,  thinking  there  must  be 
something  the  matter.  ''  What !  You've  found 
the  ore !  " 

So  saying,  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and  seiz- 
ing me  by  the  arm,  cried  :  "  You're  not  joking, 
are  you,  Phil  ?  For  goodness'  sake,  don't  fool 
me,  boys.  It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  me, 
almost ! " 

His  anxiety  was  plainly  expressed  in  his  eager 
eyes  and  trembling  hand,  and  I  was  glad  to  note 
the  look  of  relief  which  came  over  his  face  when 
I  replied  : 

''  I'm  not  fooling,  Mr.  Yetmore.  We've  found 
it  all  right — this  evening.  Come  in  and  have 
some  supper,  and  we'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Yetmore  did  not  decline  a  second  time,  but 
forgetting  even  to  tie  up  his  horse,  which  Joe 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  309 

did  for  him,  he  followed  me  at  once  into  the 
kitchen,  where,  hardly  noticing  Peter,  to  whom 
I  introduced  him,  and  neglecting  entirely  the 
food  placed  before  him,  he  sat  down  and  in- 
stantly exclaimed  : 

"  Now,  Phil  1  Quick  !  Go  ahead  1  Go 
ahead  !  Don't  keep  me  waiting,  there's  a  good 
fellow  !  How  did  you  find  the  ore  ?  Where  is 
it  ?     What  have  you  done  with  it  ?  " 

Not  to  prolong  his  suspense,  I  at  once  related 
to  him  as  briefly  as  possible  the  whole  incident, 
winding  up  with  the  statement  that  we  proposed 
to  go  and  bring  in  the  sacks  by  daylight  on  the 
morrow. 

At  this  conclusion  Yetmore  sprang  to  his  feet. 

*'  Boys,"  said  he,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "  you've 
done  me  an  immense  service  ;  now  do  me  one 
more  favor :  lend  me  your  big  gun.  FU  ride 
right  up  to  the  '  bubble '  and  stand  guard  over 
the  ore  till  morning.  If  I  should  lose  it  a  se- 
cond time  I  believe  it  would  turn  my  head." 

That  he  was  desperately  in  earnest  was  plain 
to  be  seen  :  his  voice  was  shaky,  and  his  hand,  I 
noticed,  was  shaky,  too,  when  he  held  it  out  en- 
treating us  to  lend  him  our  big  gun. 

I  was  about  to  say  he  might  take  it,  and  wel- 


3IO      The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

come,  when  Joe  pulled  me  by  the  sleeve  and 
whispered  in  my  ear ;  I  nodded  my  acquies- 
cence ;  upon  which  my  companion,  turning  to 
Yetmore,  said  : 

"  We  can  do  better  than  that,  Mr.  Yetmore. 
We'll  hitch  up  the  little  mules  and  go  and 
bring  away  the  ore  to-night." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  to  our  anxious  visitor 
the  time  seemed  interminable  while  Joe  and  I 
were  finishing  our  supper,  but  at  length  we 
rose  from  the  table,  and  within  a  few  minutes 
thereafter  we  were  off ;  Yetmore  himself  sitting 
in  the  bed  of  the  wagon  with  the  big  shot-gun 
across  his  knees. 

As  it  was  then  quite  dark,  and  as  we  did  not 
wish  to  attract  any  possible  notice  by  carrying 
a  light,  we  were  obliged  to  take  it  very  slowly, 
one  or  other  of  us  now  and  then  descending 
from  the  wagon  and  walking  ahead  as  a  pilot. 
In  due  time,  however,  we  reached  the  foot  of  the 
"  bubble,"  when,  leaving  Yetmore  to  take  care 
of  the  mules,  Joe  and  I  climbed  up  to  the 
crevice,  and  having  presently,  by  feeling  around 
with  our  hands,  found  the  hiding-place  of  the 
sacks,  we  pulled  them  out  and  carried  them,  one 
at  a  time  down  to  the  wagon.     All  this,  being 


The  Wolf  With  Wet  Feet  311 

done  in  the  dark,  took  a  long  time,  and  it  was 
pretty  late  when  we  drew  up  again  at  our  own 
door. 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  Yetmore,  striking  a 
match,  examined  the  ten  little  sacks. 

"  It's  all  right,  boys,"  said  he,  with  a  great 
sigh  of  relief.  ''  These  are  the  sacks  ;  and  none 
of  them  has  been  opened,  either."  He  paused 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  much  earnestness 
of  manner,  went  on  :  "  How  am  I  to  thank  you, 
boys?  You've  done  me  a  service  of  infinite 
importance.  The  loss  of  that  ore  almost  dis- 
tracted me :  I  needed  the  money  so  badly. 
But  now,  thanks  to  you,  I  shall  be  all  right 
again.  You  don't  know  how  great  a  service  you 
have  done  me.  I  shan't  forget  it.  We've  not 
always  been  on  the  best  of  terms,  I'm  sorry  to 
say — my  fault,  though,  my  fault  entirely — but 
I  should  be  very  glad,  if  it  suits  you,  to  start 
fresh  to-night  and  begin  again  as  friends." 

He  was  so  evidently  in  earnest,  that  Joe  and 
I  by  one  impulse  shook  hands  with  him  and 
declared  that  nothing  would  suit  us  better. 

"And  how  about  the  ore,  Mr.  Yetmore?"  I 
asked.     "  What  will  you  do  now  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  he  replied,  "  I  should 


312      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

like  to  drive  straight  up  to  Sulphide  at  once. 
If  you  will  lend  me  the  mules  and  wagon,  I'll 
set  right  off.     I'll  return  them  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  "  And  you  can  leave 
your  own  horse  in  the  stable,  so  that  whoever 
brings  down  the  team  will  have  a  horse  to  ride 
home  on." 

Yetmore,  accordingly,  climbed  up  to  the  seat 
and  drove  off  at  once,  calling  back  over  his 
shoulder  :  "  Good-night,  boys  ;  and  thank  you 
again.  I  feel  ten  years  younger  than  I  did  this 
morning !  " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  Draining  of  the  "  Forty  Rods  " 

AS  soon  as  Yetmore  was  out  of  sight,  Joe  and 
I  turned  into  the  house,  where  we  found 
that  Peter,  wise  man,  had  gone  to  bed  ;  an  ex- 
ample we  speedily  followed.  But,  tired  though 
we  were,  we  could  neither  of  us  go  to  sleep.  For 
a  long  time  we  lay  talking  over  the  exciting 
events  of  the  day,  and  going  over  the  probable 
consequences,  if,  as  now  seemed  certain,  we  had 
indeed  discovered  the  source  of  our  underground 
stream.  First  and  foremost,  by  diverting  it  we 
should  dry  up  the  "  forty  rods  "  and  render  pro- 
ductive a  large  piece  of  land  which  at  present 
was  more  bane  than  benefit ;  we  should  bring 
the  county  road  past  our  door  ;  we  should  more 
than  double  our  supply  of  water  for  irrigation 
purposes — a  fact  which,  by  itself,  would  be  of 
immense  advantage  to  us. 

At  present  we  had  no  more  than  enough  water 
— sometimes    hardly    enough — to    irrigate   our 
crops,    but   by    doubling   the  supply  we  could 
313 


314      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

bring  into  use  another  hundred  acres  or  more. 
On  either  side  of  our  present  cultivated  area, 
and  only  three  feet  above  it,  spread  the  first  of 
the  old  lake-benches,  a  fine,  level  tract  of  land, 
capable  of  growing  any  crop,  but  which,  for  lack 
of  water,  we  had  hitherto  utilized  only  as  a  dry 
pasture  for  our  stock.  By  a  test  we  had  once 
made  of  a  little  patch  of  it,  we  had  found  that  it 
was  well  adapted  to  the  cultivation  of  wheat ; 
and  as  I  lay  there  thinking — Joe  having  by  this 
time  departed  to  the  land  of  dreams — I  pictured 
in  my  mind  the  whole  area  converted  into  one 
flourishing  wheat-field  ;  I  built  a  castle  in  the 
air  in  the  shape  of  a  flour-mill  which  I  ran  by 
power  derived  from  our  waterfall ;  and  with 
a  two-ton  load  of  flour  I  was  in  imagination 
driving  down  to  San  Remo  over  the  splendid 
road  which  traversed  the  now  solid  "  forty  rods," 
when  a  light  shining  in  my  face  disturbed  me. 

It  was  the  sun  pouring  in  at  our  east  window  ! 

Half-past  seven  !  And  we  still  in  bed  !  Such 
a  thing  had  not  happened  to  me  since  that  time 
when,  a  rebellious  infant,  I  had  been  kept  in 
bed  perforce  with  a  light  attack  of  the  measles. 

Needless  to  say,  we  were  up  and  dressed  in 
next  to  no  time,  when,  on  descending  to  the 


Draining  of  the  "Forty   Rods"        315 

kitchen,  we  found  another  surprise  in  store  for 
us.  Peter  was  gone !  He  must  have  been  gone 
some  hours,  too,  for  the  fire  in  the  range  had 
burned  out.  He  had  not  deserted  us,  however, 
for  on  the  table  was  a  bit  of  paper  upon  which 
he  had  written,  "  Back  pretty  soon.  Wait  for 
me  " — a  behest  we  duly  obeyed,  not  knowing 
what  else  to  do. 

About  an  hour  later  I  heard  the  trampling  of 
horses  outside  the  front  door,  and  going  out, 
there  I  saw  Peter  stiffly  descending  from  the 
back  of  our  gray  pony  ;  while  beside  him,  with  a 
broad  grin  on  his  jolly  face,  stood  Tom  Connor. 

''  Why,  Tom  !  "  I  cried.  "  What  brings  you 
here  ?  " 

Tom  laughed.  "  Didn't  expect  to  see  me,  eh, 
Phil,"  said  he.  "  It's  Peter's  doing.  While  you 
two  lazy  young  rascals  were  snoring  away  in  bed, 
he  started  out  at  four-thirty  this  morning  and 
rode  all  the  way  up  to  my  camp  to  borrow  my 
tools  for  you.  And  when  he  told  me  what  you 
wanted  'em  for,  I  decided  to  come  down,  too. 
You  did  me  a  good  turn  in  finding  the  Big 
Reuben  for  me — and  '  big  '  is  the  word  for  it, 
Phil,  I  can  tell  you — and  so  I  thought  I  couldn't 
do  less  than  come  down  here  for  a  day  or  two 


3  1 6      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

and  give  you  a  hand.  It's  probable  I  can  help 
you  a  good  bit  with  your  trench-cutting." 

"  There's  no  doubt  about  that,  Tom,"  I  re- 
plied. "  We  shall  be  mighty  glad  of  your  help. 
You  can  give  us  a  starter,  anyhow.  But  you, 
Peter,  we  couldn't  think  what  had  become  of 
you.  Don't  you  think  it  was  a  bit  risky  to  go 
galloping  about  the  country  with  that  game  leg 
of  yours?" 

''  I  couldn't  very  well  go  without  it,"  replied 
our  guest,  laughing.  "  No,  I  don't  think  so,"  he 
added,  more  seriously.  "  It  was  easy  enough,  all 
except  the  mounting  and  dismounting.  In  fact, 
Phil,  I'm  so  nearly  all  right  again  that  I  should 
have  no  excuse  to  be  hanging  around  here  any 
longer  if  it  were  not  that  I  can  be  of  use  to  you 
by  taking  all  the  chores  off  your  hands,  thus 
leaving  you  and  Joe  free  to  get  about  your  work 
in  the  crater." 

"That  will  be  a  great  help,"  I  replied. 
"  Though  as  to  letting  you  go,  Peter,  we  don't 
intend  to  do  that,  at  least  till  my  father  and 
mother  get  home." 

"  When  do  they  get  home  ? "  asked  Tom. 
"  Have  you  heard  from  them  since  they  left  ?  " 

"  Why  !  "  I  cried,  suddenly  remembering  the 


Draining  of  the  "Forty  Rods"       317 

letter  Yetmore  had  brought  up  from  San  Remo 
the  previous  evening.  "  I  have  a  letter  from  my 
father  in  my  pocket  now.  I'd  forgotten  all 
about  it." 

Quickly  tearing  it  open,  I  read  it  through. 
It  was  very  short,  being  written  mainly 
with  the  object  of  informing  me  that  he  was 
delayed  and  would  not  be  home  until  the  after- 
noon of  the  following  Wednesday.  This  was 
Friday. 

"Joe !  "  I  shouted  ;  and  Joe,  who  was  in  the 
stable,  came  running  at  the  call.  "  Joe,"  I  cried, 
"  we  have  till  Wednesday  afternoon  to  turn  that 
stream.  Four  full  days.  Tom  is  going  to  help 
us.  Peter  will  take  the  chores.  Can  we  make 
it?" 

"  Good  1 "  cried  Joe.  "  Great !  Make  it  ?  I 
should  think  so.  We'll  do  it  if  we  have  to  work 
night  and  day.     My  !     But  this  is  fine  !  " 

He  rubbed  his  hands  in  anticipation  of  the 
task  ahead  of  him.  I  never  did  know  a  fellow 
who  took  such  delight  in  tackling  a  job  which 
had  every  appearance  of  being  just  a  little  too 
big  for  him. 

We  did  not  waste  any  time,  you  may  be  sure. 
Having  picked  out  the  necessary  tools,  we  went 


3i8      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

off  at  once,  taking  our  dinners  with  us,  and  arriv- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  "  bubble,"  we  carried  up  into 
the  crater  the  drills,  hammers  and  other  muni- 
tions of  war  we  had  brought  with  us. 

"  I  thought  you  said  there  was  a  driblet  of 
water  running  out  at  the  crevice,"  remarked 
Tom.     "  I  don't  see  it." 

"  There  was  yesterday,"  I  replied,  "  but  it 
seems  to  have  stopped.     I  wonder  why." 

"  That's  easily  accounted  for,"  said  Joe.  "  It 
was  those  sacks  lying  in  the  channel  which 
backed  up  the  water  and  made  it  overflow,  and 
when  Long  John  cleared  the  course  by  pulling 
out  the  sacks  it  didn't  overflow  any  more." 

''  Then  it's  to  Long  John  you  owe  this  dis- 
covery!  "  cried  Tom.  "If  'The  Wolf  hadn't 
blocked  that  channel  the  water  would  not  have 
run  down  to  the  caiion,  and  the  other  wolf 
would  not  have  got  his  feet  wet ;  and  if  the  other 
wolf  had  not  got  his  feet  wet,  you  would  never 
have  thought  of  coming  up  here." 

"  That's  all  true,"  I  assented.  "  In  fact,  you 
may  go  further  than  that  and  say  that  if  John 
had  not  stolen  the  ore  he  would  not  have  blocked 
the  channel  with  it,  and  we  should  not  have 
found  the  spring ;   if  Yetmore  had  not  given 


Draining  of  the  "Forty  Rods"       319 

John  leave  to  blow  up  your  house,  John  would 
not  have  stolen  the  ore ;  if  you  had  not  bored 
a  hole  in  Yetmore's  oil-barrel,  Yetmore  would 
not  have  given  John  leave — it's  like  the  story 
of  '  The  House  that  Jack  Built.'  And  so,  after 
all,  it  is  to  you  we  owe  this  discovery,  Tom." 

"  Well,  that's  one  way  of  getting  at  it,"  said 
Tom,  laughing.  "  But,  come  on  !  Let's  pick 
out  our  line  and  get  to  work." 

"  This  won't  be  so  much  of  a  job,"  he  re- 
marked, when  we  had  gone  over  the  ground. 
"  You  ought  to  make  quick  work  of  it.  We'll  fol- 
low the  wet  mark  left  by  the  overflow,  throw  all 
these  rocks  out  of  the  way,  and  then  pitch  in 
and  cut  our  trench.  Come  on,  now  ;  let's  begin 
at  once.  Phil,  you  throw  aside  all  the  rocks 
you  can  lift ;  Joe,  take  the  sledge  and  crack 
all  those  too  heavy  to  handle ;  I'll  take  the 
single-hand  drill  and  hammer  and  put  some 
shots  into  the  big  ones.  Now,  boys,  blaze  away, 
and  let's  see  how  much  of  a  mark  we  can  make 
before  sunset." 

Blaze  away  we  did  !  Never  before  had  Joe 
and  I  worked  so  hard  for  so  long  a  stretch  ;  not 
a  minute  did  we  lose,  except  on  those  four  or 
five  occasions  when   Tom,  having  put  down  a 


320      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

hole  into  one  of  the  large  pieces,  called  out  to  us 
to  get  to  cover,  when,  running  for  shelter,  we 
crouched  behind  some  friendly  rock  until  a 
sharp,  cracking  explosion  told  us  that  another 
of  the  big  obstructions  was  out  of  the  way. 

So  hard  did  we  work,  in  fact,  and  so  sys- 
tematically, that  by  sunset  we  had  cleared  a 
path  six  feet  wide.  There  remained  only  one 
more  of  the  big  rocks  to  break  up,  and  into  this 
Tom  put  a  three-foot  hole,  which  he  charged 
and  tamped,  when,  sending  us  ahead  to  hitch 
up  the  horse,  he  touched  off  the  fuse,  the  ex- 
plosion following  just  as  we  started  homeward. 

"  A  great  day's  work,  boys  !  "  cried  Tom.  "  If 
it  wasn't  for  the  training  you've  had  all  winter 
handling  rocks,  you  never  could  have  done  it. 
There  is  a  good  chance  now,  I  think,  of  getting 
the  trench  cut  before  Wednesday  evening.  I'll 
work  with  you  all  day  to-morrow — I  must  get 
back  to  my  camp  then — and  that  will  leave  you 
two  days  and  a  half  to  finish  up  the  job.  You 
ought  to  do  it  if  you  keep  hard  at  it." 

By  sunrise  next  morning  we  were  at  it  again, 
working  under  Tom's  direction,  in  the  same 
systematic  manner. 

"  Take  the  sledge,  Joe,"  said  he,  "  and  crack 


Draining  of  the  **  Forty   Rods"        321 

up  the  fragments  of  that  big  rock  we  shot  to 
pieces  last  night.  Phil,  you  and  I  will  put  down 
our  first  hole,  beginning  here  at  the  crevice  and 
working  upward.     Now  !     Let's  get  to  work  !  " 

Tom  and  I,  therefore,  went  to  work  with  drill 
and  hammer,  Tom  taking  the  larger  share  of 
the  striking ;  for  though  the  swinging  of  the 
seven-pound  hammer  is  the  harder  part  of  the 
work,  the  turning  of  the  drill  is  the  more  par- 
ticular, and  as  our  instructor  justly  remarked, 
it  was  as  well  I  should  have  all  the  practice  I 
could  get  while  he  was  on  hand  to  superintend. 

The  hole  being  deep  enough,  Tom  made  me 
load  and  tamp  it  with  my  own  hands,  using 
black  powder,  which,  though  perhaps  less  ef- 
fective for  this  particular  kind  of  work  than 
giant  powder  would  have  been,  he  regarded  as 
safer  for  novices  like  ourselves  to  handle. 

Our  first  shot  broke  out  the  rock  in  very  good 
style,  and  then,  while  I  busied  myself  cracking 
up  the  big  pieces  and  throwing  them  aside,  Joe 
took  my  place. 

The  second  hole  was  loaded  and  tamped  by 
Joe,  under  Tom's  supervision  ;  after  which  my 
partner  once  more  took  the  sledge,  while  1 
turned  drill  again. 


322      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

In  this  order  we  worked  all  day,  making,  be- 
fore quitting  time,  such  encouraging  progress 
that  we  felt  very  hopeful  of  getting  the  task 
completed  before  my  father's  return. 

Tom  having  fairly  started  us,  went  back  to 
his  camp  on  Lincoln,  leaving  Joe  and  me  to 
continue  the  work  by  ourselves ;  and  sorely  did 
we  miss  our  expert  miner  when,  on  the  Monday 
morning,  we  returned  to  the  crater.  Though 
we  kept  steadily  at  it  all  day,  our  progress  was 
noticeably  slower  than  it  had  been  the  first  day, 
for,  besides  the  fact  that  there  were  only  two  of 
us,  and  those  the  least  skilful,  as  we  ascended 
towards  the  stream  each  hole  was  a  little  deeper 
than  the  last,  each  charge  a  little  stronger,  and 
each  shot  blew  out  a  greater  amount  of  rock  to 
be  broken  up  and  cast  aside. 

Nevertheless,  we  made  very  satisfactory  head- 
way, and  continuing  our  work  the  next  two  days 
Avith  unabated  energy  and  some  increase  of  skill 
with  every  hole  we  put  down,  we  made  such 
progress  that  by  two  o'clock  on  the  Wednes- 
day afternoon  there  remained  but  three  feet  of 
rock  to  be  shot  out  to  make  connection  with 
the  channel. 

I  was  for  blasting  this  out  forthwith,  but  Joe 


Draining  of  the  "Forty  Rods'*       323 

on  the  other  hand  suggested  that  we  trim  up 
our  trench  a  little  before  turning  in  the  water ; 
for,  hitherto,  we  had  merely  thrown  out  the  loose 
pieces,  and  there  were  in  consequence  many 
projections  and  jagged  corners  both  in  the  sides 
and  bottom  of  our  proposed  water-course.  These 
we  attacked  with  sledge  and  crow-bar,  and  in 
two  hours  or  so  had  them  pretty  well  cleared 
out  of  the  way,  when  we  went  to  work  putting 
down  our  last  hole. 

As  we  wanted  to  make  a  sure  thing  of  it,  we 
sank  this  hole  rather  deeper  than  any  of  the 
others,  charging  it  with  an  extra  allowance  of 
powder.  Then,  the  tools  having  been  removed, 
I  touched  off  the  fuse  and  ran  for  shelter  behind 
the  big  rock  where  Joe  was  already  crouching, 
making  himself  as  small  as  possible.  Presently 
there  was  a  tremendous  bang  !  Rocks  of  every 
size  and  shape  were  flung  broadcast  all  over  the 
crater — some  of  them  coming  down  uncomfort- 
ably close  to  our  hiding-place — but  as  soon  as 
the  clatter  ceased,  up  we  both  jumped  and  ran  to 
see  the  result. 

Nothing  could  have  been  better.  Our  last 
shot  had  torn  a  great  hole,  extending  across 
almost  the  whole  width  of  the  old  channel,  and 


324      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

our  trench  being  six  inches  or  more  below  the 
original  level,  the  whole  stream  at  once  rushed 
into  it,  leaving  its  former  bed  high  and  dry. 

"  Hooray,  for  us  !  "  shouted  Joe.  "  Come  on, 
Phil !  Let  us  run  down  and  see  it  go  into  the 
canon." 

Away  we  went ;  but  as  the  crater-side  was 
pretty  steep  we  had  to  descend  with  some  cau- 
tion ;  whereas  the  water,  having  no  neck  to 
break,  went  down  headlong.  The  consequence 
was  that  the  stream  beat  us  to  the  canon  by 
a  hundred  yards,  and  by  the  time  we  arrived 
it  was  pouring  over  the  edge  in  a  sixty-foot 
cascade. 

We  were  in  time,  however,  to  see  a  wall  of 
foam  flying  down  the  canon  ;  a  sight  which, 
while  it  delighted  us,  at  the  same  time  gave  us 
something  of  a  start. 

"  Joe  !  "  I  cried.     "  How  about  our  bridge  ?  " 

"  Pht !  "  Joe  whistled.  ''  I  never  thought  of 
it.  It  will  go  out,  I'm  afraid.  Let  us  get  down 
there  at  once." 

Off  we  ran  to  where  our  horse  was  standing, 
eating  hay  out  of  the  back  of  the  buckboard, 
threw  on  the  harness,  hitched  him  up,  and 
scrambling  in,  one  on  either  side,  away  we  went 


Draining  of  the  "Forty   Rods"        325 

as  fast  as  we  dared  over  the  uneven,  rocky 
stretch  of  the  mesa  which  lay  between  us  and 
home. 

The  course  of  the  stream  being  more  circui- 
tous than  the  one  we  took  across  country,  we 
beat  the  water  down  to  the  ranch  ;  but  only  by 
a  few  seconds.  We  had  hardly  reached  the 
bridge  when  the  swollen  stream  leaped  into  the 
pool  in  such  volume  that  I  felt  convinced  it 
would  sweep  it  clear  of  all  the  sand  in  it  whether 
black  or  yellow ;  rushed  under  the  bridge,  and 
went  tearing  down  the  valley — a  sight  to  see ! 
Luckily  the  creek-bed  was  fairly  wide  and 
straight,  so  that  the  banks  did  not  suffer  much. 

As  to  the  bridge,  the  stringers  being  very  long 
and  well  set,  and  the  floor  being  composed  of 
stout  poles  roughly  squared  and  firmly  spiked 
down,  it  did  not  go  out,  though  the  water  came 
squirting  up  between  the  poles  in  a  way  which 
made  us  fear  it  might  tear  them  loose  at  any 
moment. 

To  prevent  this,  we  ran  quickly  to  the  stable, 
harnessed  up  the  mules  to  the  wood-sled,  loaded 
the  sled  with  some  of  our  big  flat  lava-rocks, 
and  driving  back  to  the  bridge,  we  laid  these 
rocks   upon   the   ends   of  the  poles,  leaving  a 


326      The  Boys  of  Crawford*s  Basin 

causeway  between  them  wide  enough  for  the 
passage  of  a  wagon. 

We  had  just  finished  this  piece  of  work,  when 
we  heard  a  rattle  of  wheels,  and  looking  up  the 
road  we  saw  coming  down  the  hill  an  express- 
wagon,  driven  by  Sam  Tobin,  a  San  Remo  liv- 
eryman, and  in  the  wagon  sat  my  father  and 
mother. 

"  Why,  what's  all  this?  "  cried  the  former,  as 
the  driver  pulled  up  on  the  far  side  of  the 
bridge.    "  Where  does  all  this  water  come  from  ?  " 

Then  did  the  pent-up  excitement  of  the  past 
week  burst  forth.  The  flood  of  water  going 
under  the  bridge  was  a  trifle  compared  with  the 
flood  of  words  we  poured  out  upon  my  bewil- 
dered parents ;  both  of  us  talking  at  the  same 
time,  interrupting  each  other  at  every  turn,  ex- 
plaining each  other's  explanations,  and  tum- 
bling over  each  other,  as  it  were,  in  our  eager- 
ness. All  the  details  of  the  strenuous  days  since 
the  snow-slide  came  down — the  discovery  of  the 
Big  Reuben,  the  recovery  of  the  stolen  ore,  and 
above  all  the  heading-off*  of  the  underground 
stream — were  set  forth  with  breathless  volu- 
bility ;  so  that  if  the  hearers  were  a  little  dazed 
by  the  recital  and  a  trifle  confused  as  to  the 


Draining  of  the  *< Forty  Rods"       327 

particulars,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at.  One 
thing,  at  least,  was  clear  to  them  :  we  had  found 
and  turned  the  underground  stream  ;  and  when 
he  understood  that,  my  father  leaped  from  the 
wagon,  and  shaking  hands  with  both  of  us  at 
once,  he  cried  : 

"  Boys,  you  certainly  have  done  a  stroke  of 
work  !  If  it  had  taken  you  a  year  instead  of  a 
week  it  would  have  been  more  than  worth  the 
labor.  As  to  its  actual  money  value,  it  is  hard 
to  judge  yet ;  but  whether  that  shall  turn  out  to 
be  much  or  little,  there  is  one  thing  sure  : — we 
have  our  work  cut  out  for  us  for  years  to  come 
— a  grand  thing  by  itself  for  all  of  us.  And  now, 
let  us  go  on  up  to  the  house  :  Sam  Tobin  wants 
to  get  back  home  as  soon  as  possible." 

This  the  driver  was  able  to  do  at  once,  for  the 
livery  horses,  frightened  by  the  water  which 
came  spirting  up  through  the  floor  of  the  bridge, 
declined  to  cross,  so  Joe  and  I,  taking  out  the 
trunk,  placed  it  on  the  wood-sled  and  thus  drew 
it  up  to  the  house. 

As  we  walked  along,  my  mother  said  : 

**  So  the  hermit  has  been  staying  with  you, 
has  he  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  man  is  your  wild 
man  now  you've  caught  him  ?  " 


328      The  Boys  of  Crawford's   Basin 

"  He  isn't  a  wild  man  at  all,"  cried  Joe,  some- 
what indignantly.  "  He's  a  fine  fellow— isn't 
he,  Phil  ?  He  has  been  of  great  help  to  us  these 
last  few  days.  We  could  never  have  finished 
our  trench  in  time  if  he  hadn't  taken  the  chores 
off  our  hands.  He  is  in  the  kitchen  now,  get- 
ting the  supper  ready.  I'll  run  and  bring  him 
out." 

So  saying,  Joe  ran  forward — we  others  walk- 
ing on  more  leisurely — and  as  we  approached 
the  house  the  pair  came  out  of  the  front  door 
side  by  side. 

In  spite  of  Joe's  assurance  to  the  contrary,  my 
parents  still  had  in  their  minds  the  idea  that 
any  one  going  by  the  name  of  "  Peter,  the  Her- 
mit "  must  be  a  rough,  hirsute,  unkempt  speci- 
men of  humanity.  Great  was  their  surprise, 
therefore,  when  Peter,  always  clean  and  tidy, 
his  hair  and  beard  neatly  trimmed  in  honor  of 
their  return,  issued  from  the  doorway,  looking, 
with  his  clear  gray  eyes,  his  ruddy  complexion 
and  his  spare,  erect  figure,  remarkably  young 
and  alert. 

There  was  an  added  heartiness  in  their  wel- 
come, therefore,  when  Joe  proudly  introduced 
him  ;  and  though  Peter  threw  out  hints  about 


Draining  of  the  "Forty  Rods"       329 

sleeping  in  the  haj^-loft  that  night  and  taking 
himself  off  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  my 
mother  scouted  the  idea,  telling  him  how  she 
had  long  desired  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and 
intimating  that  she  should  take  it  as  a  very 
poor  compliment  to  herself  if  he  should  run  off 
the  moment  she  got  home. 

So  Peter,  set  quite  at  his  ease,  said  no  more 
about  it,  but  went  back  into  the  kitchen,  whence 
he  presently  issued  again  to  announce  that  sup- 
per was  ready. 

A  very  hearty  and  a  very  merry  supper  it 
was,  too,  and  long  and  animated  was  the  talk 
which  followed,  as  we  sat  before  the  open  fire 
that  evening. 

"  I  feel  almost  bewildered,"  said  my  father, 
"  when  I  think  of  the  amount  and  the  variety 
of  the  work  we  have  before  us  ;  it  is  astonishing 
that  the  turning  of  that  stream  should  carry 
with  it  so  many  consequences,  as  I  foresee  it  will 
— that  and  Tom  Connor's  strike." 

"There's  no  end  to  it!"  cried  Joe,  jumping 
out  of  his  chair,  striding  up  and  down  the  room, 
and,  for  the  last  time  in  this  history,  rumpling  his 
hair  in  his  excitement.  "  There's  no  end  to  it ! 
There's  the  hay-corral  to  enlarge — rock  hauling 


330      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

all  winter  for  you  and  me,  Phil !  We  shall  need 
a  new  ice-pond  ;  for  this  new  water-supply  won't 
freeze  up  in  winter  like  the  old  one  did  !  Then, 
when  the  '  forty  rods '  dries  up,  there  will  be  the 
extension  of  our  ditches  down  there ;  besides 
making  a  first-class  road  to  bring  all  the  travel 
our  way — plenty  of  work  in  that,  too !  Then, 
when  we  bring  the  old  lake-benches  under  cul- 
tivation, there  will  be  new  head-gates  needed 
and  two  new  ditches  to  lay  out,  besides  break- 
ing the  ground  !     Then Oh,  what's   the 

use?     There's  no  end  to  it — -just  no  end  to  it ! " 
Joe  was  quite  right.     There  was,  and  there 
still  seems  to  be,  no  end  to  it. 

The  effect  of  Tom  Connor's  strike  on  Mount 
Lincoln  was  just  what  my  father  had  predicted  : 
our  whole  district  took  a  great  stride  forward  ; 
the  mountains  swarmed  with  prospectors ;  the 
town  of  Sulphide  hummed  with  business  ;  our 
new  friend,  Yetmore,  doing  a  thriving  trade, 
while  our  old  friend,  Mrs.  Appleby,  followed 
close  behind,  a  good  second. 

As  for  Tom,  himself,  he  is  one  of  our  local 
capitalists  now,  but  he  is  the  same  old  Tom  for 
all  that.     Just  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was 


Draining  of  the  "Forty   Rods"       331 

poor,  so  he  continues  to  do  now  he  is  rich  :  any 
tale  of  distress  will  empty  his  pocket  on  the 
spot.  Though  my  father  remonstrates  with  him 
sometimes,  Tom  only  laughs  and  remarks  that 
it  is  no  use  trying  to  teach  old  dogs  new  tricks  ; 
and  moreover  he  does  not  see  why  he  should 
not  spend  his  money  to  suit  himself.  And  so 
he  goes  his  own  way,  more  than  satisfied  with 
the  knowledge  that  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  the  district  counts  Tom  Connor  as  a 
friend. 

The  fate  of  those  two  poor  ore-thieves  was  so 
horrible  that  I  hesitate  to  mention  it.  It  was  six 
months  later  that  a  prospector  on  one  of  the  north- 
ern spurs  of  Lincoln  came  upon  two  dead  bodies. 
One,  a  club-footed  man,  had  been  shot  through 
the  head  ;  the  other,  unmistakably  Long  John, 
was  lying  on  his  back,  an  empty  revolver  beside 
him,  and  one  foot  caught  in  a  bear-trap.  Though 
the  truth  will  never  be  known,  the  presumption 
is  that,  setting  the  stolen  trap  in  a  deer  run  in 
the  hope  of  catching  a  deer,  they  had  got  into  a 
quarrel ;  Clubfoot,  striking  at  his  companion, 
had  caused  him  to  step  backward  into  the  trap, 
when,  in  his  pain  and  rage.  Long  John  had 
whipped   out  his  revolver  and  shot  the  other. 


332       The   Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

What  his  own  fate  must  have  been  is  too  dread- 
ful to  contemplate. 

And  the  Crawford  ranch  ?  Well,  the  Craw- 
ford ranch  is  the  busiest  place  in  the  county. 

Peter,  for  whom  my  parents,  like  ourselves, 
took  a  great  liking,  quickly  thawed  out  under 
my  mother's  influence,  and  related  to  us  briefly 
the  reason  for  his  having  taken  to  his  solitary 
life.  He  had  been  a  school-teacher  in  Denver, 
but  losing  his  wife  and  two  children  in  an  acci- 
dent, he  had  fled  from  the  place  and  had  hidden 
himself  up  in  our  mountains,  where  for  several 
years  he  had  spent  a  lonely  existence  with  no 
company  but  old  Socrates.  Now,  however,  his 
house  destroyed  and  his  mountain  overrun  with 
prospectors,  he  needed  little  inducement  to  aban- 
don his  old  hermit-life  ;  and  accepting  gladly 
my  father's  suggestion  that  he  stay  and  work  on 
the  ranch,  he  built  for  himself  a  good  log  cabin 
up  near  the  waterfall,  and  there  he  and  Socrates 
took  up  their  residence. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  for  him  and  for 
all  of  us — indeed,  for  the  first  two  years  there 
was  almost  more  than  we  could  do.  It  took  that 
length  of  time  for  the  "  forty  rods  "  to  drain  off 
thoroughly,  but  by  the  middle  of  the  third  sum- 


Draining  of  the  "Forty   Rods"        333 

mer  we  were  cutting  hay  upon  it ;  the  ore  wag- 
ons from  Sulphide  and  from  the  Big  Reuben 
were  passing  through  in  a  continuous  stream ; 
the  stage-coach  was  coming  our  way ;  the  old 
hill  road  was  abandoned. 

In  fact,  everybody  is  busy,  and  more  than  busy 
— with  one  single  exception. 

The  only  loafer  on  the  place  is  old  Sox — toler- 
ated on  account  of  his  advanced  age.  That  vet- 
eran, whose  love  of  mischief  and  whose  unfailing 
impudence  would  lead  any  stranger  to  suppose 
he  had  but  just  come  out  of  the  egg,  spends  most 
of  his  time  strutting  about  the  ranch,  stealing 
the  food  of  the  dogs  and  chickens ;  awing  them 
into  submission  by  his  supernatural  gift  of  speech. 
And  as  though  that  were  not  enough,  his  crop 
distended  with  his  pilferings  to  the  point  of 
bursting,  he  comes  unabashed  to  the  kitchen 
door  and  blandly  requests  my  mother,  of  all  peo- 
ple, to  give  him  a  chew  of  tobacco  ! 

But  the  mail-coach  hasjust  gone  through,  and 
I  hear  Joe  shouting  for  me ;  I  must  run. 

"  Yetmore  wants  fifty-hundred  of  oats,  Phil," 
he  calls  out.  "  You  and  I  are  to  take  it  up.  We 
must  dig  out  at  once  if  we  are  to  get  back  to- 
night.    To-morrow  we  break  ground  on  our  new 


334      The  Boys  of  Crawford's  Basin 

ditches.  A  month  or  more  of  good  stiff*  work 
for  us,  old  chap  !  " 

He  rubs  his  hands  in  anticipation  ;  for  the  big- 
ger he  grows — and  he  has  grown  into  a  tremen- 
dous fellow  now — the  more  work  he  wants. 
There  is  no  satisfying  him. 

We  have  been  very  fortunate,  wonderfully  for- 
tunate ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  set  apart  as  pre- 
eminently our  lucky  day  that  one  in  the  sum- 
mer of  '79,  when  young  Joe  Garnier,  the  black- 
smith's apprentice,  stopped  at  our  stable-door  to 
ask  for  work ! 


THE   END 


By  Amy  E.  Blanchard 
War  of  the  Revolution  Series 

The  books  comprising  this  series  have  become  well  known  among  the 
girls  and  are  alike  chosen  bv  readers  themselves,  by  parents  and  by  teachers 
on  account  of  their  value  fr6m  the  historical  standpoint,  their  purity  of  style 
and  their  interest  in  general. 

A  Girl  of  '76 

ABOUT   COLONIAL   BOSTON.     33' PP- 
It  is  one  of  the  best  stories  of  oWBostonanditsvicinitywhich 
has  ever  been  written.  Its  value  as  real  historj^  and  as  an  incen- 
tive to  further  study  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 

A  Revolutionary  Maid 

A  STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE  PERIOD  IN  THE 
WAR  FOR  INDEPENDENCE.  312  pp. 
No  better  material  could  be  found  for  a  story  than  the  New 
Jersey  campaign,  the  Battle  of  Germantown,  and  the  wmter 
at  Valley  Forge.  Miss  Blanchard  has  made  the  most  of  a 
large  opportunity  and  produced  a  happy  companion  volume 
to  "A  Girl  of  '76." 

A  Daughter  of  Freedom 

A  STORY    OF    THE    L.^TTER    PERIOD   OF    THE 
WAR   FOR   INDEPENDENCE.     312  pp. 
In  this  story  the  South  supplies  the  scenerj-,  and  good  use 
is  made  of  the  familiar  fact  that  a  family  often  was  divided 
in  its  allegiance.     It  is  romantic  but  not  sensational,  well- 
written  and  rich  in  entertainment. 

War  of  1812  Series 

This  period  is  divided  into  two  historical  volumes  for  girls,  the  one  Uf30n 
the  early  portion  describing  the  causes,  etc,  of  the  war,  the  latter  showing 
the  strife  along  the  Northern  border. 

A  Heroine  of  1812 

A   MARYLAND   ROMANCE.     33s  pp. 
This  IMar\-land  romance  is  of  the  author's  best ;  strong  m 
historical  accuracy  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  locality. 
Its  characters  are  of  marked  individuality,  and  there  are  no 
dull  or  weak  spots  in  the  story. 

A  Loyal  Lass. 

A    STORY    OF   THE    NIAGARA    CAMPAIGN    OF 

18 14.  319  pp. 
This  volume  shows  the  intense  feeling  that  existed  all  along 
the  border  line  between  the  United  States  and  Canada,  and  as 
was  the  case  in  our  Civil  War  even  divided  families  fought  on 
opposite  sides  during  this  contest.  It  is  a  sweet  and  wholesome 
romainx;. 

EACH  VOLUME  FULLY  ILLUSTRATED.    Price,  $1.50 

W.  A.  WILDE  COMPANY,      -    -      Boston  and  Chicago 


